


Reign Without A Crown

by hsvh



Series: Doppelgängers [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dungeons & Dragons Elements, Families of Choice, Good Albus Dumbledore, Good Draco Malfoy, Gryffindor & Slytherin Inter-House Friendships, Hogwarts Seventh Year, LGBTQ Themes, Multi, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2020-06-30
Packaged: 2021-02-23 14:27:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 152,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23412955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hsvh/pseuds/hsvh
Summary: After their early departure from Malfoy Manor, summer is over, and Draco and Dagmar’s final year at Hogwarts is about to begin. Many things are normal, such as there being a new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor and a mountain of homework in anticipation for their NEWT exams. However, lots has changed now that Draco and Dagmar face both fronts of the divided Wizarding World. Harry isn’t sure what to think either.
Relationships: Blaise Zabini/Original Character(s), Daphne Greengrass/Theodore Nott, Draco Malfoy/Original Character(s)
Series: Doppelgängers [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1652104
Comments: 47
Kudos: 43





	1. Briefing

“Let’s begin, shall we?” Kingsley Shacklebolt said.

The last day of Order briefings had arrived. Harry sat in the basement kitchen of Grimmauld Place on one side of the table with Ron and Hermione. They’d been to enough of these now that all had seemed to claim their own seats. The more senior Order members rotated through the others. Today’s attendees centred Hogwarts. Dumbledore sat across from Harry, then to his right McGonagall, and then Snape.

Kingsley stood at the head of the table, in front of the once-again-empty cork board. He had a pile of papers on the table. Kingsley picked up the top one. Harry got a glimpse of a face before it was pinned to the board.

“Theodore Nott,” Kingsley needlessly introduced him. “Son of known Death Eater, Wesley Nott. Current residence is London, as was his birthplace. Lives alone with his father, since his mother passed away in 1993.”

Kingsley picked up the next picture and pinned it: “Vincent Crabbe, son of known Death Eater, Hugo Crabbe. Current residence Manchester, birthplace London.”

The next: “Gregory Goyle, son of known Death Eater, Everett Goyle. Current residence also Manchester, birthplace also London.”

Kingsley pinned the next portrait. Harry’s heart rate picked up a little when a bored Malfoy looked back at him. Harry had more than expected to see him up there. Malfoy was the first one that came to Harry’s mind when Kingsley told them they would be discussing children of Death Eaters today.

“Draco Malfoy,” Kingsley said. “Son of known Death Eater, Lucius Malfoy. Current residence is in Wiltshire county, birthplace also at Malfoy Manor.”

Only one page remained on the table. So far, Kingsley had put up four of the five Slytherin boys in Harry’s year. That likely left just Blaise Zabini to be part of this discussion.

Kingsley hesitated after picking it up. His gaze travelled the room, lingering on Hermione before he put it up beside Malfoy. Harry’s eyebrows rose, for it wasn’t at all who he expected to see. And yet—just because she was there, Harry’s surprise quickly evaporated.

“Dagmar Ramstad,” Kingsley introduced her. “Daughter of suspected Death Eaters, Erik and Hildegard Ramstad. Current residence is in Berkshire county, birthplace unknown.”

The room fell quiet as its occupants studied the five portraits. Harry looked around to try and see what the other side of the table thought. Dumbledore did well at hiding his mind. McGonagall’s lips were in a tight line, and Snape’s brow low.

Out the corner of Harry’s eye, Hermione’s hand slowly rose. “Er—sorry. Dagmar said she was born in Bergen, Norway.”

“That’s what she told the French Ministry of Magic too,” Kingsley replied. “I don’t mean to draw attention to that fact, we just can’t confirm it at the moment. I consulted with Olaf Kyrre Memorial in Bergen, and they have no record of Dagmar being born there. The Norwegian Ministry itself has no record of any such home birth, although those are only voluntarily submitted. Admittedly, there isn’t much effort going into sorting it out. Ms. Ramstad and her family have had an eventful summer, which, you will probably come to agree, is much more interesting.”

Harry shared a quick, knowing glance with Ron. They hadn’t really ever known what to think about Hermione’s friendship with Ramstad. She was a Slytherin, but if that fact ever came up, Hermione would defend her on it. The two of them had been acquainted right from the start at Hogwarts.

Kingsley pointed at Crabbe and Goyle. “It started here. While doing some undercover work, one of my Aurors ran into their fathers drunk in a pub. They didn’t notice him, and happened to be discussing a meeting they’d attended at Ramstad Manor. Magical Enforcement dispatched a crew to poke around the Ramstads and see why they would be meeting with Death Eaters, but the team never returned.

“A follow-up crew seemed to surprise Erik and Hildegard when they arrived. We questioned the two of them at the Ministry about the whereabouts of the first crew, but they said they never received them. They offered us the opportunity to perform an in-depth raid of their manor as a means to clear the matter up on their end, and would cancel their holiday in order to stick around. We ended up finding no signs that our team had been there. The Minister offered an apology.”

“So. . .what’s weird about that?” Ron asked, while Harry tried on his own to see how the pieces fell together.

“Nothing, spare one little detail,” Kingsley indicated the picture of Malfoy. “While the Ramstads were unable to stay in their own home, they were hosted by the Malfoys. The friendship between their families, now that Voldemort has returned, can’t be ignored. The Ministry as an entity does not yet see the evidence of Lucius Malfoy being a Death Eater, so that detail went unnoticed by them. Since we know otherwise. . .we’re able to see it.

“Dagmar here made some trouble abroad for herself after the raid was completed. Her family went ahead on their original planned trip to France. Long story short, she used an obscure and dangerous curse on a Muggle. When questioned by my equal in Paris about it, Elodie Marigot, Elodie wasn’t able to find enough evidence of actual wrong-doing to hold Dagmar. It seemed to be in self-defence, as all other signs indicated and the Muggle himself corroborated. On top of the raid and staying at Malfoy Manor in the meantime, the consequences are becoming too many to remain as such.”

“What curse did she use?” Hermione asked.

“It’s called the Heafonfýr Curse,” Kingsley replied. “Its use died out in the sixteenth century. Madam Pince is quite certain it’s mentioned in no text at Hogwarts. It’s difficult to imagine where Dagmar may have picked up such a thing, if not at school. Of course, it could’ve been anywhere, but the three weeks she spent at Malfoy Manor are suspect.”

“I’m sorry, I’m really confused about that,” Hermione replied. “I’ll openly admit that Dagmar and I are quite friendly. She’s friendly with lots of respectable students. The only people at Hogwarts that she’s not on good terms with are the Slytherins. How could she go from that to this? I’ve never seen her interact with Malfoy outside of a classroom setting. Even if their families are close like you say they are, those two aren’t.”

“If I may remind you, Ms. Granger,” Snape spoke up across from her in his usual drawl. “The purpose of this meeting is to look forward at how things might now change since you’re all of-age.”

“If we’re going to talk about that, then we should talk about when Harry and I ran into Malfoy in Diagon Alley,” Ron said, nudging Harry with his elbow. “He didn’t do or say anything to us, which isn’t usually like him.”

“We figured maybe he’s trying to stay under a radar,” Harry added.

“It’s possible.” Kingsley saying that made Harry feel better about bringing it up. Hermione had discounted the idea as typical paranoia when they all talked about it after it happened. “From my perspective, Draco and Dagmar may be the ones to watch closest for possible sleeper activity, followed next by Theodore. These two—” he pointed again at Crabbe and Goyle, “—are most likely not going to be dangerous. Their fathers are currently on the run from Voldemort, as Severus has managed to learn.”

At the end of it, the day’s briefing left Harry with more to think about than any other. This one affected him personally, and there were definitely things he hadn’t considered until Kingsley brought them up. Ramstad hadn’t really been anywhere on his mind, for one. This briefing put more weight on her as an active agent of Voldemort’s than Malfoy, who Harry thought was the obvious choice.

Maybe that was the problem: Harry would see Malfoy coming from a million miles away. He’d anticipated, after all, that if Malfoy was going to be up to something during their seventh year, he would see a behaviour change in him. That he tried to slip out of the Quidditch shop unnoticed and didn’t even pause at the prospect of tormenting Harry and Ron was the change Harry expected.

Ramstad, though. From the point of view of a sleeper agent, she’d spent the last six years lowering the guards of those around her. She was friends of friends of Harry’s, although they themselves had never spoken a single word to each other outside the classroom.

Hermione still seemed to be struggling with it. She and Ron loitered in Harry’s room while he packed his things.

“I just don’t know,” Hermione said for about the fifth time now. “I get where Kingsley is coming from, but Dagmar definitely doesn’t believe in pureblood supremacy. What would she ever have to gain from serving Voldemort? Her family hasn’t even lived in Britain long enough to have been around for the first war. They only moved here a year before we started at Hogwarts. Dagmar’s English was terrible, and I don’t think she could’ve faked that. She _wouldn’t_ fake that. There were more than a few times I found her crying in the toilets our first year because that cow Pansy Parkinson was teasing her about it.”

“Makes you wonder why she’s a Slytherin,” Ron said.

“I always thought she was an example that Slytherins weren’t all like Malfoy.” Hermione leaned back on her hands where she sat on Harry’s bed. “Ambition certainly isn’t a bad trait, and she’s brilliant. Sure, she’s also a pureblood, but that’s generally irrelevant.”

Harry closed his trunk. “Guess it’s just something to keep an eye on.”

Dumbledore waited downstairs for Harry. His eyes crinkled with a smile as Harry followed his levitating trunk into the parlour. Ron and Hermione came in after him.

“Are you ready to go, Harry?” Dumbledore asked him.

Harry nodded and turned to the others. “Guess I’ll see you in a few days.”

“Train won’t be the same without you,” Ron jested as Hermione gave Harry a quick hug. “See you at the feast.”

Dumbledore disappeared through the fireplace first. Harry went next, growing nauseous from spinning as he followed Dumbledore north to the other end of the Isles. When he stepped out of the fireplace with his trunk, he stood in Dumbledore’s office. Although it was quite segregated from the rest of the castle, Harry could feel the lack of life currently in Hogwarts.

“Any questions from today?” Dumbledore asked from where he stood beside his desk.

“Not really.” Harry shrugged. “Well, plenty, but mostly just about how things will play out. Kingsley answered what he could.”

“I don’t think any of us know quite what to expect.” Dumbledore nodded. “We’ll have regular meetings to keep up on developments. All we can do is wait and see.”

“Yes, Professor.”

“If you care to join us in the Great Hall for supper, the teachers have all arrived for term.” Dumbledore’s eyes crinkled again. “I could introduce you to the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher.”

There was at least _some_ relief to be felt. Snape returned to lurking in the dungeons, and Slughorn was back in retirement.

“Sure,” Harry said.


	2. Luca

Draco couldn’t bring himself to wake Dagmar up, since she actually managed to fall asleep on the train seat. He ignored his own fatigue, his unblinking gaze stuck to the platform outside the window, but he could feel himself fading. It came to a point where Draco wasn’t sure if his eyes closing was just that, or if he was lapsing into micro-kips. He would jolt upright either way when he caught himself.

Dagmar kept him awake as well. Her night was punctuated with bouts of trembling, heavy breathing, and leaking eyes. Draco did his best to ease the nightmares on, but he had a feeling it was at the expense of any real deep sleep on her part.

When the platform started to slowly fill, Draco could at least feel some modicum of relief. Nobody had ever come for them in the night. He was also disappointed, for that meant he could’ve actually slept.

Draco gently shook Dagmar’s shoulder. “Hey, time to wake up.”

Dagmar inhaled, but didn’t open her eyes. “What time is it?”

“Ten.”

“That’s it?”

“In the morning,” Draco elaborated. “People are starting to show up. If we still don’t want to be seen together, we need to make a move.”

Dagmar clumsily sat up. Her eyes remained bleary. She blinked as she looked out at the platform. “Why didn’t you wake me up so you could sleep?”

“You needed it.”

“So did you.”

Draco was too tired to argue. That certainly wasn’t how he wanted to part ways with Dagmar.

“Whether or not we care now if we’re seen together, I have to go to the prefect compartment for eleven,” Draco told her. “Do you want me to stay until then?”

“I wish,” Dagmar answered in a weak voice. Seated upright beside Draco, she rubbed her face. “I don’t know how things changed now and, honestly, I’m too exhausted to really think about it.”

“We can later.” Draco rested a hand on her knee. “So for now, I guess. . .”

Dagmar’s bottom lip trembled and a new shine developed in her eyes. Draco really wished she wouldn’t make saying goodbye any harder than it had to be. This was the worst way he could think to leave her.

His own fatigue made it hard to fend off a crushing feeling in his chest. They’d both dreaded this moment for most of the summer. It was even worse than Draco could have imagined because he had no idea they’d be doing this under weight of everything that happened yesterday. Draco didn’t want to be alone right now, and he didn’t want Dagmar to be either.

Perhaps for that, Dagmar’s lips were exceptionally soft when Draco kissed her. The temptation to throw caution completely to the wind was overwhelming. What did it matter if anyone knew? Who did they even have right now, aside from each other? What could Pansy, Blaise, or anyone else do to them that Draco’s father and the Dark Lord hadn’t?

Dagmar squeezed Draco’s hand before their kiss ended. She stayed close, their noses touching. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

There were no words to describe how badly Draco needed to hear that right now. He was suddenly too heavy to lift himself off the seat, and doubly so when Dagmar closed the gap between them again.

The silence was even heavier as Draco organized his trunk. Dagmar stood up when he migrated toward the compartment door, and Draco eagerly invited her into his arms. He squeezed her as tightly as he dared shy of hurting her, and pressed a lingering kiss to the side of her head.

“We’ll talk when the dust settles?” he asked.

Dagmar nodded. “Keep an eye on your messenger, but remember to keep stuff about what happened out of it. The last thing we need is a teacher confiscating one of them and reading everything.”

“Right.” Draco kissed her forehead. “Good things only, then.”

Dagmar managed a smile and, for just a second, their troubles were gone. Someone walking past in the corridor poisoned it with new concern as Dagmar looked worriedly at the closed blinds.

“I’ll see you,” Draco said. “Be good.”

“That goes double for you, hjertet mitt.”

Draco stuck his head out into the corridor and made sure that the few lingering students weren’t paying attention before he took a right for the front of the train. With everything else on his mind, he’d actually forgotten about his promise to Dagmar to keep his head down when they got back to school. Considering Draco returned to Hogwarts unsure if he had any friends, was disowned, or if he and Dagmar would even be safe in-future, the last thing on his mind was to make anymore enemies.

The prefect compartment was empty when he arrived. Draco levitated his trunk up onto the storage rack, and set Ulysses and his cage on a seat by the window to save it. He took his uniform to the nearest toilet to change.

Draco hardly recognized his reflection after how stress, a full night awake, and a black eye changed it. He could fix his hair, but there wasn’t much to do about anything else. His father’s cane had caused some nasty bruising and swelling around his left eye, still painful to the touch, and his other eye had a bag under it anyway. Even though Draco might get some looks, nobody would dare ask him about it. That was the one good thing about the reputation he returned to Hogwarts with.

Draco stopped in the doorway of the prefect compartment when he returned, stomach sinking. Someone else had arrived. Her back was turned to Draco while she leaned down over Ulysses’ cage. Ulysses, the little traitor (although he didn’t know any better), held his head against the edge of the cage so that Pansy could run her fingertips over his feathers.

Pansy glanced over her shoulder, then stood up straight. Her hazel eyes were wide, but her expression rapidly changed to one of concern as she looked at Draco. Combined with nerves and dread to see her again, Draco felt his face darken with embarrassment at his appearance.

“What happened to you?” Her voice shook slightly. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

Draco tried to get to his seat, but Pansy didn’t seem to want to move. She stayed where she was, keeping Draco at bay since he had no reason or want to be within her personal space anymore. He didn’t like how she studied him, with mingled scrutiny and pity.

“It was your father, wasn’t it?” she glumly asked.

“Even if it was, that’s not exactly your business, is it?”

Draco intended to get her off his case as quickly as possible. He didn’t feel very good about accomplishing it, for how her chin trembled. She busied herself digging in her trunk while Draco moved Ulysses’ cage so he could take a seat. He got a glimpse of Pansy before she left the compartment with her uniform. She’d started crying.

Off to a great start already. Draco reasoned it couldn’t get much worse from here. He’d picked the seat closest to the window so that he would be able to hide his left eye while he looked out at the platform. He hoped anyway that after meeting with the rest of the prefects and the new Head Boy and Head Girl that he could move more freely about the train. Draco didn’t know who he’d sit with. Dagmar was off-limits, probably the only person he cared at all to see. Crabbe and Goyle would want nothing to do with him. Blaise and Theo might.

A little after ten-thirty, Padma Patil from Ravenclaw arrived with some new faces sporting blue ties. She also came with the Brown woman from Gryffindor. Draco looked back out the window while suppressing a grimace. If Granger had been replaced as a prefect, then he knew exactly who to expect as this year’s Head Girl.

She herself came in at quarter-to-eleven and, sure enough, had the Head Girl badge on her lapel. Weasley was with her, still a prefect, so that left only Macmillan as contender for Head Boy. The pompous smirk on Macmillan’s face, as well as how he walked with his chest forward, was indicative enough without seeing the badge. Finch-Fletchley came in with him, his replacement as a Hufflepuff prefect.

A few minutes before eleven, Granger counted them off quietly under her breath. “We’re missing one. Where’s—? Oh, here she comes.”

Pansy finally made her way back in. Draco slumped further down in his seat, arms crossed as Pansy had no choice but to sit next to him. Nobody else would. Even if Draco wasn’t friendly to begin with, he was sure his current appearance warmed nobody to him. A couple people had taken second glances when they noticed his black eye. Some looked tempted to ask, but none dared. Now that Pansy was back, the Brown woman watched them with interest from across the way. No doubt she was trying to figure out the story between them.

Outside, the last slew of students raced toward the train. Despite his terrible mood, Draco could at least feel relief that he and Dagmar had made it here. He tried to ignore the thought that, should their parents or the Death Eaters as a whole care to come for them, they wouldn’t bother looking in the interim if they knew where Draco and Dagmar would be at eleven o’clock. They hadn’t shown up on the platform, so. . .who knew. The next step in feeling safe was arriving at Hogwarts.

* * *

Dagmar forgot she left Malfoy Manor wearing Draco’s clothes. They weren’t obviously his, but were obviously not hers. Dagmar wanted to avoid any awkward questions that might arise from that. She wasn’t normally somebody that wore clothes a couple sizes too large for her, and men’s clothing at that.

Her hands shook as she collected her uniform from her trunk. She couldn’t help but deflate when she saw herself in the nearest toilet’s mirror. While Draco had managed to clean her up for the most part, there were still patches of dirt on Dagmar’s face. When she let her hair down, more of it pinged against the floor.

The last twenty-four hours felt totally surreal. Were there not evidence on Dagmar right now that she had been with Voldemort in that graveyard, she wouldn’t even believe it. She could feel it too. Her left arm didn’t look suspicious, but it ached threateningly.

As Dagmar cleaned her face, the slight nausea she’d woken up with worsened. She thought she had a handle on it, but her gut instinct could sense differently. Dagmar tossed the paper towel she used to scrub her cheeks in the bin and headed for the nearest stall. She had time to hang her uniform, lift the toilet seat, and then bargain with herself a little bit before she retched. Even then, she thought maybe nothing would happen. Her stomach should be empty.

And yet, it managed to scrape together some acid to bring up. Eyes and nose burning afterward, Dagmar trembled as she wiped her mouth with some tissue.

Even though she and Draco had made it to the train, she still didn’t feel safe. Dagmar felt especially vulnerable now that she was alone. She could hear students out in the corridors, happy and excited. Dagmar was as far from that as was possible. While they had all been spending their last evenings with family, Dagmar had been in front of Voldemort. He’d peered into her mind. He knew about Grim.

The thought he might tell her parents about what she’d done intensified Dagmar’s tremble. Hot shame tempted her nausea back to an unbearable point. This time, when Dagmar bent over the toilet, nothing came despite her body’s attempt for it.

Dagmar didn’t think she could look any worse in the mirror. She was pale despite the tan she’d developed over the summer, her eyes were red as if she’d been crying, and her hair remained a mess. She resigned to coil it into a bun at the nape of her neck, waited for her eyes to clear up, and straightened herself out. If she could just get through this train ride, things might get easier. One less problem laid behind her.

Her compartment wasn’t empty when she returned. Ginny and Luna had appeared. Heimdall laid half onto Ginny’s lap, purring as she pet him.

“Recognized the breed,” Ginny explained. “Checked your trunk for your name. So what’s up with you? You look like a troll shat you out this morning.”

“Feeling like it.” Dagmar rolled with the jest. Heimdall made a noise in his throat and abandoned Ginny to resume his old spot across Dagmar’s lap instead. He stretched his front legs forward, letting his paws limply dangle. “Just a bit under the weather.”

Luna gave her an owlish look. “You haven’t been swimming in any marshes lately, have you?”

“Now Luna,” Ginny said before Dagmar could respond, “it’s impolite to ask a witch what her business was in a marsh.”

Dagmar appreciated the laugh. While Ginny joined in, Luna carried on with a placid smile. “You may want to check yourself over for a flabbergasted leech. When they latch on, they secrete a poison back into their host that mimics the effects of a mild flu.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Dagmar said.

With less than fifteen minutes to go before the train left, it started to fill up much quicker. Ginny’s closest friends made themselves at home once they’d found her, and Luna moved to sit over next to Dagmar. It was too much socialization for Dagmar right now. It was at least easy to answer questions about Heimdall as they all cooed over him. Although Dagmar grew inwardly uncomfortable as she trimmed the fat on her trip to Nice, nobody seemed suspicious that there was more to the story beyond what she had to say about the shops and beaches.

Once the spotlight was off her, Dagmar scanned the families out on the platform that waved goodbye to everyone else aboard. She didn’t see her parents amongst them, nor Draco’s. Nobody had ever come for them, good or bad. Dagmar held on to a single thread of hope that this incident would be what shook her parents awake from the life they’d chosen when her dad took the Dark Mark. It didn’t, though. They really _had_ chosen Voldemort over her.

Dagmar tried not to let that bother her—at least not now, when she couldn’t properly grieve the complete loss of her family without drawing unwanted attention.

It came and went regardless. When Dagmar couldn’t stand it anymore, she headed back to the toilet.

Dagmar hoped to get a good cry out of her system so that she would be better adjusted to face the rest of the day. She felt just good enough away from the other girls that she wasn’t sure it would happen now. Dagmar’s body was more apt to show its stress in other ways. She still felt a tinge of nausea at the back of her throat, her literal nerves felt jilted and prone to tremble, and her left arm occasionally ached.

Her stomach dropped to see it had darkened again, like a bruise beneath her skin. It wasn’t her imagination. Dagmar had used a wand this time, though. Why should it have affected her?

Dagmar didn’t feel ready to return to her compartment after leaving the toilet. Draco would be patrolling the train at random intervals throughout the day. Maybe she could catch him long enough on his own to say hello, or even just to touch him as he passed. She glanced into each compartment as she walked by, idly searching for him that way as well.

Dagmar glanced into a compartment, then came to an abrupt stop so she could look again. There was a boy in there that she’d never seen at Hogwarts before. And yet, she recognized him. As if to confirm that, his dark eyes lit up with a similar sentiment. He raised a hand in greeting. A name tried to come forward in Dagmar’s mind, but it couldn’t even reach as far as the tip of her tongue.

She took a step back toward the compartment, but hesitated when she glimpsed the rest of its occupants. Another pair of dark eyes bore into her—Blaise’s, clearly hoping that she wouldn’t make an awkward situation out of how they’d last parted ways. Theodore Nott sat in there as well, along with Daphne, who waved at Dagmar in greeting.

Dagmar decided against it. She could see the confusion in the boy’s gaze as she raised her hand in farewell with a tight smile. Carrying on back toward her compartment, Dagmar racked her brain for where she knew him from. His name still wouldn’t come. Where had Dagmar been travelling, or what engagement had she been at, that he had attended too? He’d made himself quite cozy with other Slytherins, so they must know him as well.

“Hey!”

Dagmar glanced over her shoulder, then stopped when she saw him coming down the corridor toward her. He was taller than her, probably a few inches past six-feet compared to her five-nine. The longer Dagmar looked at him as he approached, the less sure she was that they’d met before. Nothing was coming to mind, and yet, she couldn’t shake the sensation that they had. Neither could he, clearly.

He stuck out a hand. “Luca Parasca.”

Dagmar took it. “Dagmar Ramstad.”

The name didn’t trigger any sort of memory either. His eyes narrowed in thought. “And how do we know each other?”

“Honestly, I’m trying to figure that out.” Dagmar chuckled awkwardly. He had an accent that she couldn’t place. To her it sounded somewhere between Russian for the consonants, and maybe either Italian or French for the vowels. “Where are you from?”

“Bucharest.”

Dagmar hummed. “Never been to Romania. Ever been to Bergen?”

“Norway?” Luca blinked. “Nu.”

“My family hasn’t really done much travelling in Eastern Europe.” Dagmar held her chin. “Budapest, once.”

“Nor mine in Scandinavia. Never made it that way past Hamburg.”

Dagmar glanced past Luca back the way he had come from. “How do you know Blaise and them?”

“Never met them before today,” Luca brightly replied, eyes lighting up. “I was sitting alone, and they just asked if they could join me.”

“Hm.” With nowhere else to go, Dagmar shrugged. “I guess you just have one of those faces.”

“You too.”

He laughed and folded his arms as he leaned against the wall. Dagmar lingered, still trying to place him despite their lack of luck toward it. He had dark hair and pale skin, but that was probably pretty typical for a Romanian. Nothing about him, no detail like the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled, gave Dagmar any sort of clue.

“So what brings you to Hogwarts?” she asked. “You must have just moved to Britain.”

“Well, I considered carrying on at Durmstrang anyway, but my mum thought I should come with her if I wanted,” he said. “She’s teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts.”

“Oh, really!” Dagmar perked. “It’s always a surprise when we get there, who this year’s professor will be.”

“She was surprised when Dumbledore wrote her,” Luca replied. “She hasn’t been an Auror for a while now, but I guess that doesn’t matter, eh?”

“Not usually, to Dumbledore.” Dagmar shrugged. “So long as she knows her stuff, I’ll certainly be happy to study under her before I write my NEWT exams in June.”

“Don’t worry, then. She does. She’s been writing about her time as an Auror since she retired—which I guess doesn’t really get out of the Balkans, since she only publishes in Romanian. . .”

A compartment door slid open behind Dagmar. She didn’t think of it as being her own until her name was spoken. Dagmar looked back at Ginny in time to see the colour drain from her face. What had been a happy, carefree expression quickly turned to one of horror.

“I’ll see you around, perhaps,” Dagmar bid Luca, who looked a little disconcerted that he would incite such a reaction. Still, it was promising to Dagmar that Ginny knew him from somewhere.

Ginny planted herself against the wall outside the compartment, gaze steadfast in the direction Luca headed off in. Dagmar regarded her with a furrowed brow, for surely someone that seemed so pleasant couldn’t possibly pull this kind of reaction out of the blue.

“How do you know him?” Ginny demanded before Dagmar could ask the same question.

“I don’t.” Dagmar just shrugged. It was the simpler explanation. “He’s new. Mum’s teaching Defence. How do _you_ know him?”

Ginny just shook her head and led their way back into the compartment. The other girls didn’t notice anything off about them. They were too preoccupied by one of them, Maya, showing off a messenger.

“So who’s got the other one, then?” Charlotte asked in a cheeky tone.

“Yeah, who?” Harper giggled.

Maya blushed deeply. “You’ll just make fun of me.”

“No we won’t. Tell us!”

“All right, then. . .Zacharias Smith.”

The compartment burst into a racket, making Luna jump slightly beside Dagmar. The ruckus managed to pull Ginny back to herself. It also compelled Harper, who sat with a view of the corridor, to clap her hands to her mouth with a gasp.

“Sh!” she told everyone. “Malfoy’s coming.”

Dagmar’s heart leapt. She figured Draco would just pass by. When he slid their door open far enough to stick his head in, Dagmar hid her smile behind her fingers.

“Keep it down, would you?” he told them. “I could hear you from the next car over.”

His gaze travelled over them as they all offered up some variety of apology. Since all the girls were turned away from her, Dagmar winked at Draco. If he noticed, he didn’t show it.

“Thanks,” he said before continuing on.

As soon as he was gone, Harper leaned forward over her knees and dropped her voice. “Bloody hell, did you see his face? Wonder who cracked him one.”

Ginny snorted. “Motive doesn’t really narrow the field of possibilities down, does it?”

The other girls giggled. Dagmar’s smile strained against heavy cheeks. Defensiveness rose in her stomach, her feelings hurt by proxy for Draco. It made her nervous to be reminded that this was the opinion he had earned himself over the last six years. Dagmar couldn’t imagine the looks she would get from these girls if they found out about him and her. They reacted judgmentally enough over Zacharias Smith who, while insolent, was far from the worst boy at Hogwarts.

“Bet it was Pansy,” Ruth said. “She might’ve done him like that when they broke up.”

“Broke up?” Harper laughed. “That’s putting it pretty mildly, don’t you think? I heard he ran off galavanting abroad for like half the summer before dumping her as soon as he was back.”

“Grass is always greener, or so they say.”

Dagmar swallowed nervously.

“What do _you_ think, Dagmar?” Ginny asked.

“How would _I_ know?” she addressed their hungry smirks.

“You’re in the same house,” Harper pointed out. “You share a dorm with Pansy.”

“I don’t know anything about her summers.” Dagmar tried to skirt the truth as much as possible without outrightly lying. “We aren’t friends.”

Maya tsked in disappointment. “I guess if you were, you wouldn’t tell us anyway.”

Dagmar just shrugged and managed to smile. “Guess not.”


	3. The Sorting

While Harry waited over the weekend for Ron and Hermione to make their way up on the train, he fell into place alongside Hagrid. Hagrid was in the midst of planning his lessons for the year and finishing up some pressing tasks around the grounds. Harry was happy to tag along for all of it, occasionally breaking for tea in Hagrid’s hut.

On Monday morning, Hagrid immediately gestured Harry up to the staff table when he entered the Great Hall. Hagrid’s big grin meant good news.

“Got somethin’ ter show yeh after breakfast.” Hagrid winked. “They came in the night.”

Hagrid had hinted all weekend that something special for his NEWT class was cutting it close. He wouldn’t tell Harry what he waited for, which probably meant it was dangerous.

Hagrid finished his breakfast quickly once he and Harry had talked. He lingered behind Harry at the Gryffindor table until he just resigned to rise. Harry packed his toast with him down across the lawn.

The closer they got to Hagrid’s cabin, the more clear it was that it wasn’t where Hagrid meant to take Harry. They carried on past toward the edge of the forest, walking along it once they’d reached the outer limit.

“Er. . .” Harry started. “You’re not about to show me dragons again, Hagrid?”

“Dragons?” Hagrid looked down at him. “What makes yeh say that?”

“We’re heading to the same paddock they were in during the tournament.”

“We are, yeah.”

Harry braced himself for what Hagrid may have possibly convinced Dumbledore to let him show his most advanced class. His brow merely furrowed when they rounded the corner. All that was in the paddock was a giant bonfire. Harry didn’t think Hagrid would be this excited about salamanders, nor did he think that a creature he’d been shown in third year would make a reappearance for Hagrid’s NEWT students.

“Jus’ a sec’ ‘ere, Harry.” Hagrid had laid a long, iron stick next to the fire. He poked it into a gap he’d made, and used it to bring a large, smouldering bucket out. Hagrid set it on the bare ground in front of them and donned his thickest pair of gloves. He lifted the cover.

Harry stared inside. “You’re taking the piss.”

“Nope, but they aren’t what yer thinkin’.” Beaming, Hagrid picked up one of the eggs. It was smaller than a dragon’s. Other than that, Harry couldn’t tell the difference. “Firedrakes. Here, take it, yeh kin feel it movin’ around. Should hatch in the next few weeks.”

The egg was warm in Harry’s hands. Sure enough, something slithered around inside.

“Cool,” was all Harry could think to say. There were about a million things that could go wrong with this, but that was pretty par for the course when it came to Hagrid. “One firedrake for each student, or. . .?”

“Yup.” Hagrid took the egg back so he could return it to the bucket. “Seven of ‘em. Not bad for a NEWT class. There aren’t many kids interested anymore in workin’ with animals after Hogwarts. No one but the Hufflepuffs seem ter think Newt Scamander left much ter do.”

“Is it only Hufflepuffs that take it?” Harry asked. The class had been a sensitive subject in the last year, since he, Ron, and Hermione all opted to drop out. Hagrid at least seemed to understand now it wasn’t personal. Harry would’ve continued to take it right up to graduation if it didn’t interfere so much with what he needed to focus on.

“Nope, got a smatterin’ from all the houses,” Hagrid cheerfully replied as he led Harry over toward a pile of firewood. “Got me roster last week. Same ones I had in your year, then a couple new ones that’re starting their sixth. That Colin Creevey, and then Professor Parasca’s son.”

“Who’s all taking it from my year?”

“Malfoy, fer one.” Hagrid dropped the logs into Harry’s arms a little too haphazardly, especially with that information on top of it. “That Macmillan boy and Hopkins from Hufflepuff. Goldstein from Ravenclaw, and then Kellah.”

Harry hadn’t really absorbed the names after Hagrid dropped Malfoy’s. “Why’s Malfoy in it?”

“Dunno, really.” Hagrid stopped filling Harry’s arms when his face disappeared behind the logs. “On’y one other than Hermione ter get an O on the OWL. Figured that might have somethin’ ter do with it. Actually wasn’t a bad student last year. Quiet, when he doesn’t have an audience.”

Harry packed his armful of wood back over toward the fire. He couldn’t actually see where it was, so he relied instead on hearing the roaring flames and feeling their heat. He dropped all the wood on the ground, since there was no way he was going to unload himself without Hagrid’s help.

He’d been thinking a lot about what he might possibly come to expect from Malfoy this year. It was no surprise to Harry that he wound up one of the Order’s prime focuses, and yet. . .there was no way for Malfoy to get close enough to Harry to do anything as he usually was. The two of them were literally six years to the day beyond the point of their bitter rivalry being reversible. Harry wondered once in a while what he would even do if Malfoy rejected his roots and sought out some sort of alliance.

That would be how Malfoy found his in amongst Voldemort’s enemies. Malfoy didn’t really care about anyone but himself. He was a coward. If he was going to try to prove himself to Voldemort, that would be his ideal way.

It had already begun. Malfoy didn’t say anything to Harry and Ron when they’d crossed paths in Diagon Alley. He’d already apparently softened Hagrid somewhat tentatively toward him.

Everyone wanted to believe that bad people weren’t just that—that even the worst of them could be saved, or were at least capable of good. That sentiment likely only belonged to the professor side of Hogwarts’ Order members. No teacher wanted to see their students wind up like Malfoy, or like Tom Riddle had. As Malfoy’s peer, though, Harry thought that the lot of them were setting themselves up for massive disappointment.

He and Hagrid spent the cool morning stoking the bonfire between stints at the table in Hagrid’s cabin. Harry started watching the clock as eleven neared. Dumbledore had assured him not to worry about what might happen for the Hogwarts Express. Order members would be flying along above the train just in case Death Eaters or Voldemort himself tried to intercept it. Ron and Hermione, along with some old DA members, were primed to send sparks up into the air in the event that occurred. The rest of them at Hogwarts wouldn’t know how the trip went until the train either arrived in Hogsmeade on time, or it didn’t.

Rather than let Harry dwell, Hagrid found them more things to do while they waited the day out. They took Fang for a walk around the lake, then visited with Firenze briefly in the mid-afternoon.

“I really don’ think he’d be dumb enough ter try it,” Hagrid finally addressed it as he and Harry went back out to check on the firedrake eggs. “Snape put a bug in You-Know-Who’s ear that you were gonna be comin’ ter Hogwarts early. He knows yeh ain’t on there. It’s all jus’ a precaution.”

“Yeah.”

Harry just wanted the wait to end. He did at least feel better when he saw Dumbledore later. That he wore a small smile and hummed to himself as he carried on down the corridor was a great comfort to Harry.

Still, Harry was relieved when he heard word that the Express had pulled in at Hogsmeade. Hagrid headed off to collect the first-years, while Harry took a seat in the Great Hall to wait for Ron and Hermione. It was a while yet before the carriages started arriving at the castle, but once they did, students filed into the hall at a steady rate. A lot of them looked in interest at Harry, which he didn’t think much of since it wasn’t exactly a new phenomenon.

“So this is where you were!” Seamus said when he took the seat across from Harry. “People were saying on the train you weren’t coming this year.”

“Oh, really?”

“Guess just ‘cause you weren’t on there. Glad you made it, though, mate.”

Others greeted Harry as well. Maybe Harry was just imagining it, but a lot of them looked relieved to see him. Dumbledore had probably been right, then, that so long as life appeared normal for Harry, the looming threat of Voldemort wasn’t yet serious enough for everyone else to panic. Secretly, in a way, Harry wished something would give soon. Voldemort going quiet for this long wasn’t as good as Harry wished it was. He was up to something. This time, Harry couldn’t see what it was. He would have no forewarning.

Neville came and sat beside Harry. While Harry would’ve liked to hear what he had to say about the train ride, they were too surrounded by people that wanted to chat. The best Harry could do was save Ron and Hermione seats nearby, and then hope they’d have a chance when everyone tucked into the feast.

Since they were a prefect and Head Girl, Ron and Hermione were among the last to sit down. Harry attempted to covertly crane his neck toward the Slytherin table to check in on the students they’d been tasked to watch. He hadn’t seen any of them come in through the crowds, and was starting to feel useless.

A hush fell over the hall as McGonagall strode out of a side chamber carrying a small stool with the sorting hat on top of it. This year’s new students formed a line behind her. They were all quite short, except for one that towered over them. It earned some chuckles about the hall. While most found it funny, Harry’s heart turned to ice as he looked at the new boy.

He was the absolute spitting image of a young Tom Riddle. Harry’s gaze darted to Dumbledore and, sure enough, he must have noticed as well. He still smiled, but the twinkle in his eye had disappeared. While Dumbledore looked up and down the line of new students, his gaze stopped whenever it passed the new boy. The boy looked back at the staff table and briefly waved at Professor Parasca. This must be her son Luca.

Harry studied Luca closely while the sorting hat sang its song, looking for any kind of dissimilarity between him and a sixteen-year-old Tom Riddle. The hall breaking into applause at the end of the song made Harry jump. It interrupted his focus, but not for long. The resemblance was uncanny. Rather than watch the sorting as it started, Harry looked down the Gryffindor table for Ginny. If anyone else would recognize Luca for who he resembled, it would be her.

He caught her eye easily, since she’d already been looking at him. Her eyebrows rose, mirroring his alarm, and Harry was glad that it wasn’t just him and Dumbledore. Then again. . .yes, Hagrid saw it too. His carefree mood from earlier had disappeared. Instead, he leaned forward heavily onto the staff table, holding his jaw in one large hand. That was four for four of the people that had ever known Tom Riddle in some capacity as a youth, and were aware of who he’d become.

“Parasca, Luca,” McGonagall called him forward when she reached his name on the scroll.

Another bout of laughter passed through the hall as Luca basically had to squat to sit on the stool. His smile, while apparently charming for most, was far from it for Harry. Tom Riddle had been charming too.

The hall fell silent along with the sorting hat. It wasn’t the first time of the night the hat took its time. After a few minutes it finally announced: “Slytherin!”

“Big shocker, that,” Harry said to a confused Ron as he crossed his arms rather than clap. The Slytherins of course more than made up for it, banging their fists on the table as Luca made his way over to sit between Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott—yet another red flag that, despite the shortlist of students Kingsley had brought them to watch, he’d clearly missed one.

* * *

Dagmar still hadn’t developed any sort of appetite by the time food appeared along the Slytherin table. Not even making it to Hogwarts without incident and guaranteeing her safety until June helped. Nausea still created a lump at the back of Dagmar’s throat.

For show, she put some roast chicken, mashed potatoes, carrots, and peas on her plate. Dagmar thought maybe her body wouldn’t reject it like it had a cauldron cake earlier on the train. She’d barely gotten that down before she was running for the toilet as it came right back up.

It was useless to try. Dagmar had at least taken so little that her plate looked like she made a dent by the time she gave up. Everyone around her was so preoccupied with their friends that she doubted they’d notice. Even if they did, they likely didn’t care.

Dagmar stood and looked for the nearest prefect. She would’ve loved to use this excuse to talk to Draco, but she also didn’t want to draw any attention to the two of them. He looked over at her from where he sat about thirty feet away. Dagmar could feel his gaze as she headed the opposite direction down the Slytherin table.

“Hey Astoria, what’s the password?” Dagmar asked Daphne’s little sister.

Astoria beamed, more happy to be recognized as one of Slytherin’s newest prefects than curious why someone would want it early. “Anguis.”

“Thanks.”

Dagmar headed off. She was torn about whether or not she hoped Draco would catch up to her somewhere along the way. She wanted to see him and had missed him all day, but for now they probably shouldn’t spend too much time together.

Footsteps sounded behind Dagmar on the stone steps she’d just taken down into the dungeons. She moved off to the side to slip into some shadows. Despite how rough of a day Dagmar had, warm endearment came over her as Draco passed her by.

Dagmar poked herself out of the nook. “Hey.”

Draco stopped and turned around. With another glance up and down the corridor, he returned to where Dagmar stood. “What gives?”

Dagmar shrugged. “Done eating. Thought I’d catch a shower and go to bed early. I could sure use it.”

She regretted saying that immediately. Poor Draco hadn’t slept at all the previous night, at her expense. This close to him, Dagmar saw he could easily fall over where he stood. His good eye was just as swollen as his bad one from fatigue.

As apology for her thoughtlessness, Dagmar slipped a hand into Draco’s. It at least inspired a smile. On a day like this, Dagmar could hardly believe such an expression was possible, and yet she found herself returning it before enveloping him into a hug. Draco’s head immediately laid heavy on Dagmar’s shoulder.

Dagmar nuzzled him. “Well. . .we made it.”

“Mhm.”

“So what now?”

Draco exhaled. “I’m not sure. Do what we have to, I guess, to make sure we get the NEWTs we need.”

Dagmar nodded. Their ambitions didn’t change in that regard, but their fallback plans had certainly been affected if this was truly the end of their relationships with their parents. After Dagmar and Draco finished at Hogwarts, they would be completely on their own.

It didn’t scare Dagmar as much as she expected it would. She’d always applied herself as if that would be the case, doubly so since her dad became a Death Eater. She wouldn’t be in London anymore with Blaise, but abroad with Draco. Dagmar wondered how far away would be considered a safe distance, especially now that she might have put a target on her back. Voldemort may have appreciated her capabilities when he expected her on his side, but maybe not anymore.

Dagmar just didn’t want to think about it right now. She had ten months to figure out what might wait for her outside Hogwarts, and she certainly wouldn’t be figuring it out on her own. It was a great comfort, after she’d felt alone all day, to be reminded like this by Draco that they would face whatever came together.

“Are you going back to the feast?” Dagmar asked.

“Have to.” Draco sighed. “Gotta show the first years where to go and give everyone the new password.”

“Duty calls.” Dagmar released him enough to see his face. “I was going to write you in my messenger, but we’re going to need to be more careful about those. Did you see any on the train? The second one comes out, everyone immediately wants to know who has the other one. I’m thinking we probably shouldn’t pack them around.”

“Probably not.” Draco pulled a face.

“I’m going to hide mine under my pillow,” Dagmar said. “We could still talk before we go to bed.”

“Yeah.”

“Maybe not tonight.” Dagmar ran her thumb gently over Draco’s cheek, since his bruising had finally reached its limit. “You look like you’ll be asleep as soon as you lay down.”

“I’d rather talk.”

“I’m sure you would.” Dagmar kissed him. “I just don’t think you can.”

“Leave me a message anyway?”

Dagmar softened further, which was making it increasingly difficult to face the prospect of sleeping without him. She’d grown accustomed to Draco’s presence beside her, and it helped with her nightmares. That might just be because Draco shook her out of them if he woke up by it. All the same, it saddened Dagmar that they had to give it up.

“I will,” Dagmar said. “I love you, anyway, and have a good sleep if you don’t get around to checking it.”

“I love you too.”

Since they were still well-enough alone, Dagmar wanted to use this chance for what they could. Their combined fatigue didn’t allow for much liveliness as they snogged, but Dagmar’s body didn’t seem to care as it warmed up against the otherwise cool dungeon. This was the downside of having accidentally conditioned herself to expect full follow-through every time she and Draco so much as touched. His lips were soft yet diligent, and Dagmar could think of a few other places she would rather have his mouth at the moment.

She tried not to inspire the same thing in Draco, since he wasn’t heading straight to the shower or bed like Dagmar was. He was so tired, Dagmar didn’t think Draco would even want sex if they could.

And yet, she could see it in his eyes when they broke apart. Dagmar kept their fingers hooked until they were too far apart for it. “See you.”

Draco watched her go, probably debating if he could get away with following her twice. They would have the Slytherin common room and dorms to themselves until the feast let out. Although it would’ve been absolutely foolish of her to go with him into the seventh-year boys’ dorm, Dagmar couldn’t help but daydream about it. Once the two of them settled in for the new school year, they would have to figure something out. Dagmar wasn’t interested at all in going ten months without having him.

She let herself into the common room and headed for her dorm. Dagmar’s belongings had made it to the same bed she’d slept in for the last six years. She paused after opening her trunk. Draco’s clothes that she’d changed out of earlier were on top. As tempting as it was to change into at least his shirt, Dagmar didn’t know if Pansy would recognize it.

An idea occurred to her while she was in the shower. Upon returning to her bed, Dagmar closed her curtains and pulled her messenger out from underneath her pillow.

 _Out of curiosity,_ she wrote, _have you worn that shirt I bought you in Nice? I’m going to be borderline pathetic and ask if I can have it. It’d be nice to at least have something that smells like you if I can’t have you._

Dagmar had just put her messenger away and returned the ink and quill to her bedside when the din of arriving Slytherins sounded from the common room. Dagmar’s stomach sunk when she heard Pansy’s laughter cut through it all.

“Ugh, I’m so full,” she complained as she entered the dorm.

“Keep your voice down,” Daphne replied, close to a whisper. “Looks like Dagmar already made it up here.”

Pansy’s silhouette showed through Dagmar’s curtain. “Psst, you awake?”

Dagmar didn’t bother to answer.

“She’s out,” Pansy said. “It’s no wonder why. Did you happen to see her on the train or during dinner? She looked awful.”

If Pansy didn’t sound so gleeful about it, Dagmar might have confused her as caring. Dagmar just rolled her eyes before closing them again.

“Yeah, I saw her.” Daphne sounded closer to sympathetic. “She came by the compartment me and Theo were sitting in on the train. Seemed like she knew Luca, the new sixth-year. Did you meet him yet?”

“Yes,” Pansy answered. “What a cutie.”

Another laugh sounded in the room from Dagmar’s left. Millicent was there too, even if she hadn’t contributed to the conversation yet. A lulling silence followed.

“So. . .” Daphne hesitantly started. “It’s true, then? You and Draco broke up?”

“Yeah,” Pansy replied in a flippant tone. “When it came down to it, I just couldn’t see myself with him for the rest of my life. That’s a long time. He’s not that interesting.”

“I thought—never mind,” Daphne cut herself off. “I can’t believe you never told me. Why’d you keep it to yourself?”

“Honestly didn’t think you’d care, since you and Theo got engaged.”

“You never told me either,” Millicent pointed out.

“So?” Pansy shot back. “Maybe I just didn’t want to advertise it. It’s not exactly something to be proud of, hurting someone like that. I still care about him, just not enough to spend the rest of my life like the last five years were.”

“Was it that bad?” Millicent asked. “You never seemed unhappy.”

“Not bad, but not great. I can do better on my own.”

“What about you?” Daphne asked. “No fiancé?”

“Nah,” Millicent replied. “My parents didn’t want to arrange anything for me.”

“Oh, really?” Pansy said.

“Why do you say it like that?”

Dagmar had heard the cruel amusement in Pansy’s words too.

“Well, I mean—nothing,” Pansy opted to reply with. “I thought your parents would want to, is all.”

“Go on, say what you mean,” Millicent goaded her, voice cold. “You don’t think anyone would want me.”

“I wasn’t going to say that.”

“Of course you weren’t,” Millicent replied. “That might have left you open for someone to suggest that maybe you didn’t dump Draco, and that the stories floating around the train today were true.”

“Sod off, Milly,” Pansy snapped. “You think Draco himself wouldn’t have put those stories around to save face?”

“Okay.”

Millicent’s tone said she didn’t believe Pansy, but her minimal response didn’t give Pansy anything else to feed off. If Dagmar didn’t feel so guilty about how she’d treated the end of Draco and Pansy’s relationship, she might have gleaned some kind of entertainment value from her dorm-mates bickering.

Nobody spoke to each other while they one-by-one crawled into bed. Millicent and Pansy both shut their curtains with a flurry, while Daphne did so more quietly. Dagmar was more in her camp for this whole thing. It was best to stay out of the way until things smoothed over— _if_ they smoothed over. For Dagmar, they never really would.


	4. Potter vs. Ramstad

Spare Draco’s echoing footsteps, the dungeons were silent. They’d long lost their spooky quality for Draco, but he wasn’t accustomed to patrolling them alone anymore as a prefect. Pansy used to accompany him. On quiet nights like tonight, they would use the opportunity to slip into somewhere unoccupied.

Draco wished that Dagmar could’ve come along on his rounds. It would certainly make an otherwise boring job fun, and Draco was having a difficult time transitioning out of a summer mindset anyway. It hadn’t taken much from Dagmar earlier at all to bring his body to life, which wasn’t a problem when they were spending copious amounts of time alone at his home. It was easy just to roll over and have their way with each other. Even if they weren’t keeping their relationship secret when back at school, a certain level of propriety had to be maintained. They couldn’t fool around whenever the fancy visited them.

At this point, Draco would just be happy to walk around hand-in-hand with Dagmar. He hoped that, when they next had an opportunity to talk, they would be able to revisit the entire idea of keeping things hush-hush. Their situation had changed. Draco had effectively denounced You-Know-Who. Even if their parents were outed as Death Eaters, did it matter anymore if Draco and Dagmar were lumped in together with them? At the end of the day, they weren’t followers of You-Know-Who, and they never would be. In a year, they would be gone. Nobody would have to bother with them anymore.

Draco’s racing thoughts were the only thing keeping him awake at this point. He tripped over things he normally wouldn’t, like errant cobblestones in the floor. As the stretch of wall that hid the Slytherin common room came into view, Draco’s fatigue doubled with prospect of falling into his bed.

There were lights on underneath his dorm’s door and voices behind it. Draco had done a fair job for the rest of the day avoiding Crabbe and Goyle, since his father had been right. They looked at Draco long enough to warn him off with twin scowls when they’d all spotted each other on the train.

Both of them fell quiet when Draco let himself in. Blaise and Theodore didn’t notice, since Crabbe and Goyle were at the back of the room.

“All good, is it?” Theo breezily asked. He clearly didn’t care, but it was some sort of segue into what he really wanted to ask: “So what’s up with the eye?”

“Fell off my broom yesterday,” Draco answered without looking over as he removed his cloak beside his bed.

“ _You?_ ” Blaise asked. He smirked, amused at himself, when Draco glanced at him. “I find it surprising you can’t handle a Firebolt. I saw you with one, did I not?”

“Oh—yeah,” Draco replied. “Birthday present.”

“You’ve had it that long and never said?”

Draco shrugged. “Busy summer.”

Theo snickered. Draco caught the tail-end of him sharing a glance with Blaise when he looked up again.

“What?” Draco asked, deadpan.

“So what’s the story then, on what’s going around?” Theo folded his fingers behind his head. “First version this morning was that you dumped Pansy after going silent on her the first few weeks of summer. Spent some time abroad, and doesn’t take much imagination to figure out what you were up to. Now we’re hearing that Pansy dumped _you_. That wouldn’t be the real story behind the shiner, would it?”

Draco narrowed his eyes. “Why would I still have a black eye from mid-July?”

Theo shrugged.

“She wouldn’t hit me,” Draco said. “Even if she really wanted to.”

“What happened, then?” Theo pressed. “What’s the real story?”

“We broke up.” That’s all that mattered, as far as Draco was concerned. “Congrats on your engagement, by the way.”

“Thanks, mate.” Theo flashed a smile that had the ghost of a dreamy quality. “Summer after next, I’ll be a married man.”

“Scared at all?” Blaise asked.

“Nope,” Theo answered. “I love Daphne. She’s great.”

Draco thought he’d succeeded in getting the focus off himself, but he’d merely changed the topic. He flattened his hair back down after pulling off his jumper, when Theo raised his chin at him again.

“Were you and Pansy arranged, then?” he asked. “I figured your parents would be a stickler to that tradition.”

“Yeah.”

“I believe it more that you called it off, then, instead of her,” Theo said. “And I don’t think anyone blames you for it, not in this room anyway.”

Draco idly nodded. Whatever had happened, he didn’t feel right putting Pansy down along with Theo.

“What about _you?_ ” Theo directed at Blaise, making Draco’s innards run a little cold. “Mum didn’t put you up with anyone?”

“Nah.”

Not a flicker passed over Blaise’s expression as he blatantly lied to Theo. If Draco didn’t know otherwise, he would’ve believed Blaise without a doubt.

“Oh well.” Theo just shrugged. “I’m sure you’ll manage just fine on your own. I hear Pansy’s available.”

The two of them snickered, while Draco just shook his head. The laughter died quickly when Draco pulled the curtains around his bed shut.

“Come on mate, you know we’re just joking,” Theo said.

Draco loosened his tie. “I’m exhausted.”

“Sweet dreams, then.”

Theo and Blaise laughed again, although quieter and for a shorter length of time. A strange feeling somewhat like defensiveness rose in Draco’s chest, but he wasn’t exactly sure why. Of course he’d be pissed off if they talked about Pansy like that while he still went with her. Perhaps some residue of that remained, or it just didn’t sit right with Draco that Theo talked about any woman like that when he was supposedly mature enough to marry one himself. Draco also didn’t like the thought that that was the opinion they held of Pansy while he’d been with her. Pansy had her flaws, yes, but Draco liked her anyway.

It didn’t matter now. Draco shouldn’t even concern himself with it, when there was so much else going on. He brought a quill and bottle of ink out of his trunk in case he had anything to respond to in his messenger.

Dagmar’s message chased away the dregs of Draco’s low mood. He started a response with it in mind to fetch the Nice shirt from his trunk, but slowed when an idea occurred to him. Along with it, heat rolled back into fruition in his lower abdomen.

Draco erased what he’d written and replaced it: _You can have the shirt if I can have a pair of your knickers._

The thought of Dagmar fulfilling that request was more than enough to spur Draco on relieving his pent-up lust for her. He was actually a little shocked he managed to finish before he dozed off, not that it took very long. The first thought that came to his mind when he woke up (after making sure he hadn’t accidentally slept in) was to check for a response.

_That’s so filthy._

Draco chuckled. Oh well—it had been worth a shot.

* * *

Dagmar’s night ended up punctuated by deep throbs in her left arm. The first couple times she woke up, she was tired enough to just roll over and go back to sleep. One time when it brought Dagmar back to wakefulness, she laid there half-riddled with panic while bracing what felt like the bone itself on fire. It at least calmed down from there by morning, but Dagmar still didn’t feel like she’d slept much. Going into her first day as a seventh-year NEWT student, she didn’t know how she was going to do this without the rest she had hoped for.

Her appetite hadn’t really returned yet either. Dagmar poked at some scrambled eggs, debating piling it along with her bacon onto a piece of toast to make it look like less food. She looked up when someone dropped down beside her at the table, then took a double-glance.

“Morning,” Pansy cheerfully greeted her. “How’d you sleep?”

Dagmar looked around them, but nobody else sat close enough for Pansy to be addressing instead. “Er. . .fine. You?”

“Great, thanks.”

Pansy hummed to herself as she gathered some sausages, mash, and toast onto her plate, before smothering the lot in ketchup. Dagmar resisted making a face as Pansy stirred it into her mash, turning it an off-red colour. That did it completely for Dagmar’s appetite. Normally she wouldn’t care what someone else did with their food, but she could hardly look at her eggs now without nausea swelling up uncomfortably at the back of her throat.

Dagmar still poked at them while idly watching the rest of the students in the Great Hall. The first day back there was always a weird mix of excitement and dread in the air. Everyone was happy to be with their friends again, but not looking forward to the first mountain of homework.

Draco hadn’t arrived yet in the hall, so Dagmar’s gaze steadily flickered in direction of the double doors. Her heart fluttered when he finally came in. He entered alone, his uniform neat and hair impeccably combed. Dagmar suppressed a reactive smile and did her best not to train her attention on him. Pansy would pick up on that in a heartbeat.

Dagmar looked the opposite way, up toward the staff. Snape made his way down the Slytherin table with a stack of timetables. Pansy sniffed in annoyance beside Dagmar, which was the cue Dagmar waited for to know that Draco passed them by. He did so on the other side of the table. His good eye narrowed at Pansy before his gaze passed Dagmar completely over. Even though Dagmar knew he did it because anything else under Pansy’s shrewd gaze would be foolish, she still felt put out by the lack of attention.

Snape finally made it to Dagmar. He pulled her schedule out of the pile and his dark eyes scanned it before he extended it to her. When Dagmar took it, he maintained grip on the parchment. Dagmar looked back up at him.

“You’ll be able to handle that?” Snape asked before he let go. 

Dagmar’s schedule had always been manageable. She did well enough in all her classes not to feel overwhelmed. That feeling crept in on her now as she absorbed the cramped words filling the small piece of parchment. Five of the courses—Transfiguration, Charms, Defence Against the Dark Arts, Potions, and Herbology—ate up everyday until lunch break with rotating double blocks. Tuesdays and Thursdays, Dagmar had double History of Magic in the afternoons, and then double Astronomy in the evenings. Her Monday, Wednesday, and Friday afternoons were at least emptier by comparison. She only had a regular block of Arithmancy. Because only three blocks of the week were dedicated to it, though, that meant a heavier homework load loomed ahead.

“Er. . .I’ll manage,” Dagmar said.

“I’m sure you will.” Snape rifled through his schedules and held out another. “Ms. Parkinson.”

“Thanks, Professor.” Pansy turned back around in her seat, looking it over as she ate her mash. She glanced at Dagmar’s, then again. “Bloody hell, when are you going to sleep?”

“After exams, by the looks of it.”

“What do you even need that many courses for?”

Dagmar shrugged. “I’ve kept all the same ones since third year except Care of Magical Creatures.”

“ _I_ dropped as many as I could after OWLs.” Pansy put her schedule beside Dagmar’s for comparison. “Ooh, we both have Defence first. We can sit together.”

Dagmar studied Pansy with a furrowed brow as she returned once again to her breakfast. What alternate reality had she woken up in today that she and Pansy were friends? Millicent hadn’t come down yet to breakfast, and Daphne sat with Theodore. Even then, Pansy was usually content to sit by herself. Actually—no, that wasn’t true. Regardless of whatever Millicent and Daphne were up to, Pansy used to sit with Draco at meals.

Pansy made a low noise in her throat as she looked up the table past Dagmar. “Ugh. What does _he_ want?”

Dagmar glanced over to see Draco on his way toward them. Despite her lacking appetite, Dagmar forked a little bit of eggs into her mouth. This close to Pansy, she couldn’t allow for even the slightest amount of suspicion to reach her.

“What?” Pansy snapped when Draco’s footsteps stopped behind Dagmar.

“Ramstad,” Draco addressed her instead. “I need a word.”

Dagmar looked back at him, turning her head away from Pansy. Although she gave him a meaningful look that this could certainly wait, he didn’t react to it.

“What is it?” she resigned to ask.

To her growing discomfort, Draco took a seat on her side opposite Pansy. Dagmar’s heart pounded in her chest. She did her best to show no sign it affected her, but her hand shook slightly as she tucked an errant piece of hair behind her ear.

Draco unfolded his schedule. “When does study hall start?”

“Er, next week,” Dagmar answered. “Monday.”

“Can you lift my ban so I can go?”

“Erm. . .” To Dagmar’s left, Pansy snorted to herself. “I can try. I haven’t chosen my contacts yet from the other houses, so I’ll have to see what they say.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll let you know,” Dagmar said.

“Thanks.”

Dagmar wished she could say more than that, like tell Draco he looked handsome today, or explain that she herself had no idea what Pansy was doing there. She would’ve liked to do more too than glance at Draco’s schedule. Resting her head on his shoulder or kissing him good morning would’ve been a decent start. Looking at him now, Dagmar could’ve been fooled that everything between them didn’t exist. It unsettled her how good of an actor he could be. Dagmar was certainly relieved that, despite his protests about keeping their relationship secret, Draco committed to it in public space. The awkwardness that came from not being able to do anything properly translated to the kind that would fall between them if they had no relationship at all.

Pansy scoffed when Draco headed back to his seat. “He could’ve waited to ask that. I bet you anything he’s just trying to make me jealous so I’ll take him back.”

“Oh?” Dagmar didn’t know what else to say.

“Mhm. He’s pathetic like that.” Pansy rolled her eyes. “I don’t know how I didn’t see it sooner. Are you done? I need to get my book for Defence.”

“Ja.”

Pansy fell into step beside Dagmar, a slight bounce to her as they headed for the Great Hall’s exit. “So how was your summer? Did you go anywhere?”

Dagmar nodded. “My parents took me to Nice. Er—you?”

“I wasn’t going to, but I decided it might be nice to get away,” Pansy chirped. “Have you ever been to Lisbon? It’s _so_ beautiful.”

“I can’t say I have.” Dagmar managed a polite smile. “What’s it like?”

“Oh, just gorgeous. The beaches, I couldn’t even describe them to you. Nor the men.” Pansy giggled, falling quiet as they passed Luca by. He smiled at Dagmar in greeting, which didn’t stop Pansy from glancing over her shoulder after him. “There’s much to say about the Portuguese, but maybe there’s something about Romanians, too. You know him?”

“Nei.” 

“I spoke with him a bit last night. I love his accent, but I wish he was more of a talker.” Pansy shrugged in a what-can-you-do manner. “Those Eastern European boys are always a little more stoic. Viktor Krum was like that too.”

Dagmar nodded. Hermione had mentioned a few times that Viktor was actually quite chatty, especially in his native tongue.

The hope that Dagmar could write something to Draco was dashed by Pansy’s hovering presence in the dorm. Dagmar supposed it wasn’t really that important anyway that she immediately get to it. Surely Draco had to know she had no say in it. Dagmar felt bad for Pansy because she came back to Hogwarts mostly alone. It was humiliating to be dumped, and Pansy clearly wasn’t handling it very well.

Dagmar collected her Defence book from her trunk, and stocked her bag up with fresh parchment. She was looking forward to getting a closer look at Professor Parasca to see if maybe it was her instead of Luca that she recognized. When she tried to go for her usual seat at the front of the classroom, Pansy called her back toward her own spot. Dagmar carried on anyway. She’d hoped it would deter Pansy, but Pansy still dropped down beside her with a heavier thud of her book than was necessary.

Only a handful of students had beat them there. One of them was Ernie. Dagmar headed back to where he sat on his lonesome across the aisle from Hermione, Potter, and Weasley. Ernie looked up from where he read, his gaze softening before a more placid smile took over.

“Hey, Ernie,” Dagmar greeted him. “Good summer? Congrats on Head Boy, by the way. I wasn’t surprised.”

Ernie’s smile shifted toward a smirk with the compliment. He’d always had a little ego to him as well, to the point that Dagmar mentally referred to him sometimes as Hufflepuff-Malfoy. That was especially interesting to be reminded of now, Dagmar thought, since she would’ve most likely agreed to go with Ernie the few times he’d asked over the years were it not for her betrothal to Blaise.

“Thanks,” Ernie brightly replied. “I wasn’t either, honestly.”

Somewhere to Dagmar’s left, Weasley scoffed under his breath. If Ernie heard him, he made no sign of it. Dagmar chuckled anyway.

“I suppose you know what I want to ask you,” she prefaced. “Dumbledore put me in charge of study hall this year. I’m sure your schedule will be too packed between classes and Head Boy duties, but could I use you as my Hufflepuff contact? I won’t ask much, just to put the odd notice up in your common room.”

“Sure.” Ernie leaned back in his seat so that his Head Boy badge was plainly visible on his lapel. “I’m still planning on signing up as an aide too, just so you know.”

“I hoped you would. It’d be a shame for all that knowledge you’ve stored over the years to not get passed along before we leave this place behind.”

“That was my thought as well.”

Their chat ended as Dagmar spotted another one she meant to intercept, Padma. She was just as agreeable toward being Dagmar’s Ravenclaw contact, as was Neville for Gryffindor. At some point, while Dagmar floated about the room, Draco had come in. He and Blaise sat together in the back corner furthest away from the door. Theodore and Daphne sat ahead of them, and Theodore was turned around in his seat.

Dagmar averted her gaze when Draco’s met hers. Pansy had turned grumpy at the front of the class with no one to talk to. Millicent sat by herself as well, but was turned around talking with Daphne. That didn’t stop Pansy from making a show of her loneliness, fist bunched up against her cheek while she randomly doodled on a corner of her parchment.

The classroom door closed at the back of the room and, like that, everyone fell silent. Professor Parasca was a short, thin woman. She wore a set expression as she made her way to the front of the classroom. Dagmar stared unabashedly as Professor Parasca set the pile of parchment she carried onto her desk. She reminded Dagmar of a lot of people already. Dagmar would cross her no sooner than McGonagall, judging by her apparent sternness. She dressed in a manner that suggested she and Snape swapped fashion tips this morning. Her eyes, while kinder, had the same heavy lids as Bellatrix Lestrange. Dagmar couldn’t see anyone else through all that, that rung a bell.

“Good morning,” she greeted them in a deep, carrying voice. When Professor Parasca folded her fingers together in front of her, Dagmar saw that she was missing her pinky and about three quarters of the ring finger from her left hand. The trajectory of the removal suggested they’d been somehow cut or chopped.

The rest of class mumbled their response out of sync.

“My name is Ekaterina Parasca,” she introduced herself. “I come originally from Romania, where until I retired in 1983, I worked as the Head Auror for the Balkan Ministry of Magic.”

Excited whispers sounded directly behind Dagmar, but they immediately ceased when Professor Parasca’s gaze fell on Lavender and Parvati.

“I’ve reviewed the curriculum for this course from the past six years,” Parasca said. “Your studies for Defence Against the Dark Arts have been rather stilted. Despite that, I was glad to see that your year’s grades have managed to stay consistently high, averaging an E. I would like to start this course with a few tests, to see where you stand.”

Parasca busied herself with the pile of parchment she’d entered the room with. She divided it into three, and handed one of them to Dagmar. “Pass these around so that everyone gets one.”

While the classroom rustled with the sound of parchment, Parasca went ahead on taking attendance. She paused when she came to Dagmar’s name, which peaked Dagmar’s curiosity again about whether or not they knew each other.

“Ms. Ramstad?” Parasca asked, to which Dagmar put up a hand. “Apologies, but which way do you prefer your name pronounced? I’ve heard it a couple different ways.”

Dagmar couldn’t help but smile, for Parasca was the first professor she wouldn’t have to correct. “Like Dow-mar.”

Parasca carried on until she finally reached Blaise. “All right, you may all begin.” 

Dagmar wasn’t intimidated at all by the prospect of a pop quiz until she read the first question after flipping it over: _What spell is most effective against a lethifold?_ A what, now?

“Oh my god,” Pansy whispered under her breath a moment later. “I don’t know any of this.”

“This won’t be graded,” Parasca told them as similar concerns broke out around them. “I only want to know where you stand against the potential NEWT exam. You have the first hour to complete it.”

That made Dagmar feel better. She hoped she could at least pass. She fell quiet along with the rest of the class. Leaving several answers blank was certainly disconcerting. Many Dagmar knew since the quiz touched upon subjects they’d learned in previous years, but it killed Dagmar whenever she came across something she knew they’d covered, but she had since forgotten. There were a few questions about things she knew from outside class, such as the one about Occlumency. She still didn’t feel great when Professor Parasca collected their answers at ten o’clock.

“Thank you.” She set them in a pile before guiding the desk back up against the blackboard. “Now, if you would all follow suit so we can clear the centre of the room, I’d like to see how you all hold your own in a more practical sense.”

Excited whispering broke out at the prospect of actually doing something during their first lesson. It was marred by uncertainty (“I dunno, after those questions, what do you reckon she might set on us?”), but Dagmar didn’t think it could be that bad. Hopefully Parasca’s view of what seventeen-year-olds were capable of wasn’t as skewed as Moody’s had been.

“Keep your wands,” Parasca told them rather needlessly. “We have twenty-eight in this class, which makes for fourteen pairs. We’ll go in alphabetical order, where each pair will engage in a formal duel. That will start us off with Ms. Abbott and Ms. Bones.”

The two Hufflepuff girls looked at each other with barmy grins before joining Parasca at the centre of the room.

“For those that may need reminding, a proper duel begins with a bow, before you go into your stance,” Parasca said before backing up to where the rest of the class had formed a sideline. “You have two minutes. Begin.”

Neither Hannah or Susan had technically lost by the end of their turn, so they were deemed a draw when Parasca told them to stop. Dagmar figured that if the two of them weren’t such good friends, they might have given it an honest go. They were entertaining to watch, all the same.

Better match-ups came after, especially when the two duellists came from different houses. Terry Boot and Lavender Brown were at least more competitive, but Millicent and Michael Corner were relentless with each other until Millicent was successfully disarmed about forty-five seconds in. Her face was red as she picked her wand up. Dagmar couldn’t tell if it was from embarrassment or anger.

If it was the former, she certainly wasn’t the weakest duellist in the class. Crabbe pushed her out of everyone’s mind as he next faced off against Justin Finch-Fletchley. So too did Goyle against Hermione who, Dagmar knew, wasn’t the most comfortable at duelling.

The first duel-pair to get a resounding _‘oooooh’_ from the class was Malfoy vs. Macmillan. Draco had already ditched his cloak and jumper at some point. He rolled up the sleeves of his shirt as he stepped away from Blaise and Theodore.

Theodore put his hands up to his mouth. “Play nice now, Malfoy.”

The class broke out in laughter, Draco himself sparing a grin. Ernie remained serious as the two of them squared up and bowed at Parasca’s mark.

Draco stuck to the rules. It threw Ernie off for the first minute as he thought too hard to anticipate Draco’s next move. They eased into a comfortable rhythm, throwing increasingly powerful spells back and forth while blocking or dodging the most recent that came their way. Draco’s brow furrowed in concentration the same way it had when he and Dagmar practiced on the terrace at Malfoy Manor the last few weeks. It certainly helped him hold his own, because Ernie was better than Dagmar last remembered.

“Time!” Parasca called at the two-minute mark.

Draco and Ernie snapped out of the near-trance they’d fallen into, along with the rest of the class. As Dagmar disengaged from it, she wiped the grin that had surfaced off her face. She didn’t need anyone to see how she looked at Draco when proud of him.

Theodore and Pansy were after them, which only lasted a minute until Pansy went down with a Stunning Spell. She landed on the cushions Parasca conjured and, although a little shaky getting to her feet, resumed a pout as she returned to where Dagmar stood. The Patil twins went next, which was reminiscent of Hannah and Susan’s duel with a hint more competition. Parvati took a high-five from Lavender when they were finished.

“Mr. Potter and Ms. Ramstad,” Parasca called.

Dagmar’s stomach couldn’t decide what direction to go with that. She was excited for her turn to have finally arrived, but she wasn’t entirely sure about who she faced. Potter had long developed a reputation at Hogwarts as an accomplished duellist. He’d even faced off against Voldemort and walked away from it.

Then again, Dagmar might have a hidden advantage. She’d done the same, which no one here knew.

She and Potter got a similar reaction out of the class as Draco and Ernie had. The Slytherins made a racket, stomping their feet and calling Dagmar’s name. She couldn’t help but grin anew at the encouragement, even if it was matched out of principle by the other three houses in favour for Potter.

Potter just looked embarrassed by it, his expression tight and cheeks holding a little colour as he and Dagmar faced each other. Dagmar held her wand loosely in front of her with both hands when she bowed before assuming stance. Her breath evened out while she waited for Parasca’s mark.

She set into motion with it, but Potter was quicker. What Dagmar intended to be a Stunning Spell ended up a Shielding Charm instead. She had to do a few more as Potter kept throwing different spells her way, looking for an in to shift from defence to offence. Dagmar side-stepped one Disarming Spell that didn’t come straight enough and was able to send one back. Potter was just as quick to dispel them as she’d been.

Dagmar didn’t want the duel to end in a draw, like so many others had. While she minded herself on autopilot, she tried to think how she could possibly end this within the next minute and a half. A Shielding Charm was of course only effective against more harmless spells. Dagmar knew more powerful ones, but she backed away immediately from the thought of using the Heafonfýr Curse. She’d seen what it was capable of at full strength, and she didn’t want to do to Potter what she’d done to Voldemort.

“ _Expelliarmus!_ ” Potter yelled again.

To Dagmar’s disappointment, her wand slipped out of her hand. The Slytherins around the room groaned too as they watched it sail along through the air toward Potter. Dagmar’s gaze dropped from her wand to him, his hand outstretched intent to catch it. He wasn’t paying attention anymore. He didn’t expect anything.

Dagmar stepped forward and cut her left hand down through the air, _Stupefy!_ louder in her mind than if she’d actually used the incantation. To her satisfaction, red light sliced the room as it headed toward Potter. A couple classmates noticed too late to say anything, Potter a split-second right before it hit him. Cushions hardly had time to manifest underneath him as he hit the classroom floor. Dagmar’s wand clattered against the stone where he’d just been standing.

The class members that hadn’t seen how it happened looked at Potter with a furrowed brow before shifting their gaze to Dagmar. Although proud of herself for having managed what she wanted to do, sheepishness from all the attention it garnered warmed Dagmar’s cheeks as she picked up her wand.

Professor Parasca came over as well, wand pointed toward Potter’s chest. He came out of it, blinking in confusion. That only deepened when Dagmar extended a hand, but he accepted the help up.

“Should that even count?” Lavender asked. “He wasn’t paying attention. She was disarmed.”

“It was still within the time limit,” Parasca replied. “Being disarmed doesn’t necessarily mean that the duel is over.”

People clearly disagreed. A grumble broke out amongst the class, and Potter seemed to agree it wasn’t fair as he stood between Hermione and Weasley. He folded his arms, his mouth bunched to one side as he studied Dagmar across the way.

In contrast, Pansy grinned and shook Dagmar by the arm. “That was excellent. He didn’t know what hit him.”

“Mr. Thomas and Ms. Turpin,” Parasca raised her voice over the rabble.

With that, the class moved on. Thomas and Turpin were the second-last duel before Weasley and Blaise finished them off with five minutes to spare before the class ended at quarter-to-eleven. While Dagmar put her desk back in place, she picked up some words from Parvati behind her: “. . .guess at the end of the day, she’s still a Slytherin.”

Dagmar glowered when their gazes met. Parvati was at least decent enough to look some form of sorry she’d been overheard, although she may have meant for it. It annoyed Dagmar, because she normally got along quite well with Parvati.

“That should suffice for our first lesson,” Parasca drew all their attention back to the front of the class. While it hadn’t seemed possible during the block, a smile rose quite naturally on her face. The wrinkles around her eyes became more apparent with it. “No homework for today. We’ll consider this review, but be prepared for Friday’s lesson.”

That perked everyone back up from what effect Dagmar’s duel with Potter had. Dagmar was certainly relieved by the lack of homework, for it took off some of the weight she’d felt that morning while looking over her schedule.

Pansy fell in step with her again in the corridor. “You have a class next?”

Dagmar nodded. “Potions.”

“Sucks to be you,” Pansy replied in a sing-song voice. “Guess I’ll see you at lunch.”


	5. Potions and Polyjuice

With only fifteen minutes to get down to the dungeons, Dagmar took the quickest way she knew from the third floor. Blaise and Theodore had taken two seats together on the far side of the classroom. Potter, Weasley, and Hermione settled in the middle at the back. Ernie was just arriving beside Hermione, where she sat in front of Potter and Weasley. Their subject of conversation became pretty clear to Dagmar when all four looked over as she walked in.

Dagmar ignored them while taking a seat a few rows behind Blaise and Theodore. It effectively ended Potter, Weasley, Hermione, and Ernie’s conversation, since she was close enough to overhear. The whole thing still bothered Dagmar, anyway. The last thing she wanted to do after the summer she’d had was start the school year off on this kind of foot with Potter.

Although she didn’t really want to, and certainly didn’t think she had to, Dagmar rose from her chair. Hermione and Ernie were unperturbed by her crossing the aisle, but both Potter and Weasley raised their eyebrows. They had never seemed very approachable to Dagmar. She was certainly rethinking this now.

“Look. . .Potter,” she started. “I probably shouldn’t have taken the opportunity shot. I wasn’t even sure it would work.”

He shrugged. “It’s fine.”

“Professor Parasca was right,” Ernie airily stated, earning a roll of the eyes from Weasley that went unnoticed by him. “You were within the rules that she stated. Considering we learned nonverbal spells last year, more of us should’ve been doing that. Where did you learn wandless magic, though?”

Dagmar shrugged, uncomfortable with the shrewd looks she received from not only Potter and Weasley, but Hermione as well. Dagmar would rather eat a bezoar than go into the story about Marc and his mates in Nice. “Picked it up over the summer, I suppose.”

A din sounded at the classroom entrance as the four Ravenclaws they’d studied Potions with last year entered. Behind them was Draco, who honed in on Blaise and Theodore. Dagmar used the distraction of them all coming in as opportunity to return to her own seat. Draco sat ahead of Dagmar. Despite herself, she couldn’t help but gaze at the back of his head while they all waited for Snape to show up. Her stomach flipped when Draco turned around.

“Nice duelling,” he told her.

“Thanks,” was all Dagmar could really think to say.

The longer the day went on, the weirder she felt about Draco. Now that they were back in this setting, away from their homes and in their school uniforms, she was having a hard time reconciling Draco to the person he’d left off as in June. That was a good thing, but because everything between them budded in practically a whole other world from Hogwarts, Dagmar was getting stuck on really considering him hers while here. His impeccable acting didn’t help. He didn’t seem to see her as his, either.

Dagmar felt weird about Blaise too. It was strange to see him again knowing there was nothing left between them. They’d sat together in most classes last year, including Potions. She’d noticed a couple of times now a certain lengthiness to his face. Dagmar saw it again as he turned back toward the front of the classroom.

Snape had arrived. At some point since breakfast, the neutral expression he’d worn shifted into a glower. His gaze rested on Potter and Weasley. No doubt he’d hoped they wouldn’t care to study beneath him any longer.

“It seems that I have the same twelve students that Slughorn accepted into this course last year,” he said in a quiet voice. “I would hope he passed on my warning that the second half of your NEWT education is substantially more challenging. You’re only here now because you’ve shown your ability to follow directions over the past six years. The time has now come to prove how much of the information you encountered through your education properly transitioned into knowledge.”

Dagmar lifted her chin, intrigued. Across the aisle, Hermione looked just as eager to begin.

“Aside from the usual assigned homework, you will also be given a project for the year, due May twenty-eighth,” Snape continued. “It will be your responsibility to brew an advanced potion from scratch. Even though you have several months to do it, I warn you not to waste time. All of these potions have either lengthy brew cycles or complicated ingredients, so you will not have many attempts before it must be correct.

“You won’t do it alone. Choose a partner now, and choose smartly. Think about who might be a help, and who might be a. . .hindrance.”

Snape said that with his gaze stuck on Potter and Weasley again. As Dagmar looked around the room, the Ravenclaw students were all content to pair up with who they sat next to. So were Blaise and Theodore. Hermione and Ernie both turned around in their seats, Hermione telling Weasley that it wasn’t a personal affront on his potioneering skills she insisted they partner up. Ernie and Potter were in agreement as well.

Draco turned around again in his seat, smirking. “Guess that leaves just you and me.”

“Guess so.”

Dagmar picked up her things and moved up behind Theodore to sit beside Draco.

“You will choose your potion at random,” Snape said once everyone had settled with their new partners. Hermione and Potter had switched seats. “Mr. Nott, pick a number between one and six.”

He and Blaise wound up with Amortentia. Dagmar experienced absolutely no envy for them. Not considering the difficulty of the potion, the first thing that popped into Dagmar’s head was how they would even test it.

Dagmar grew nervous as Snape moved on next to her and Draco. Draco looked to her to choose their number, and Dagmar pressed her lips when they were assigned the Polyjuice Potion. Potter and Ernie were given Wolfsbane Potion, Hermione and Weasley Veritaserum, Padma and Boot Felix Felicis, and Corner and Goldstein Invisibility Potion. Nobody looked happy with their assignments, Weasley above all. He might have been paler if he’d chosen his pride over partnering with Hermione.

“I place emphasis again on the fact that your knowledge how to brew these potions must come from how well you know your ingredients.” Snape looked pointedly at Hermione and Weasley. “As Veritaserum will be one result, I will use it to test all of your honesty toward academics. If Ms. Granger’s and Mr. Weasley’s is not adequate, my own supply will be used.

“Your assignment for today is relatively similar,” he moved on. “Use the next hour to create without reference a Wiggenweld Potion. It should be simple enough, or so I hope. At twelve-thirty, you and your partner will decide who takes some Sleeping Draught, and who will administer the antidote that you made. Begin.”

Dagmar and Draco looked at each other before standing with everyone else to set up. Draco got his cauldron up before Dagmar, so she started sifting through the cupboards. Reverse-engineering potions certainly changed the way that she looked at them. Other than writing essays on certain ingredients or methods, Dagmar hadn’t really put much thought toward them.

It panicked her for a moment before she slowed herself down. Wiggentree bark was a given—it was in the name. Moondew would also be a strong contender, since it was a common ingredient in most antidotes that Dagmar remembered making over the years.

“I hope he’s just trying to scare us by setting one with so many ingredients the first day,” Draco said as he joined her side. “I don’t remember this one being hard to follow, but I do remember a full desk. Time might be tight too.”

“Ja,” Dagmar mindlessly replied.

As she and Draco lit a fire under their cauldron and began preparing ingredients, Dagmar started feeling better about her level of retained information. Lionfish spines had to be somehow involved, because their poisonous attributes were altered by the powerful combination of moondew, dittany, and moly. They were also fickle, and couldn’t be added in large quantities at one time.

“Should I start us off with the horklump juice?” Draco asked Dagmar as she continued grinding up their unicorn horn. “The cauldron should be warm enough now it won’t sit too long before simmering.”

Dagmar set the back of her hand on the side of the cauldron. Too hot, and the juice would evaporate off, leaving their potion on the thicker side. “Go ahead, and then all this stuff here should be ready. When it comes to a simmer, start adding the salamander blood.”

The peripheral ingredients that Dagmar and Draco had cut turned the normally-red horklump juice a murky brown. It all stewed together as the horklump juice came up. Lines appeared on the surface, a sign that the wiggentree bark, moly, dittany, Chizpurzle fangs, mint, stewed mandrake, unicorn horn, and aconite began to break down. Each drop of salamander blood that Draco added turned the potion back a shade toward red. Dagmar told him when to stop so that she could stir it in. It turned orange when agitated, like it was supposed to.

“All considered, we might have it the easiest for that project, hey?” Draco asked. They’d reached the point now where they kept adding salamander blood and stirring until their potion reached a certain shade of turquoise.

“I don’t know.” Dagmar shook her head. “I have ideas for a couple ingredients, but not how they’ll need to be prepared. Fluxweed is probably one, as well as lacewing flies.”

“Fluxweed has to be picked during full moon to be useful,” Draco replied. “So I guess we’ll have to ask Professor Sprout if we can get some from the greenhouses next time that’s about.”

Dagmar exhaled through her nose. “Full moon was last night. We missed the opportunity for another month, so that’s already going to put us behind.”

“That’s all right. We still have plenty of prep we could do in the meantime.”

Draco not panicking helped bring Dagmar back from the edge of it. He was right—they had a lot of research to do into what else might possibly change somebody into another person.

Everyone else in the class had their eyes on their potions. Blaise and Theodore sat with their backs to Dagmar and Draco, and Snape looked over the Ravenclaw pairs on the other side of the dungeon. Feeling that it wasn’t very much of a risk, Dagmar rested her free hand atop Draco’s. He looked up at her a little owl-eyed, feeding into Dagmar’s inability to reconcile Hogwarts-Draco from summer-Draco, but his gaze quickly softened when Dagmar ran her thumb over his knuckles.

Dagmar knew better than to let it go on for too long. No sooner had she slid her hand back did Theodore turn in his seat enough for him to have potentially noticed. Still, it was enough contact for Dagmar to feel a little better. Butterflies fluttered in her stomach whenever their gazes met, or if Draco offered up a smile.

Their Wiggenweld Potion returning to its original red colour meant that all the salamander blood had infused with the other ingredients. Dagmar added the first half of the lionfish spines, and then the rest when it was ready again. They were making good time, with only the finishing touches to be done.

Draco started readying the honey water. “What’re you doing tonight?”

“Other than hiding from Pansy, no idea.”

Draco snorted, but cut it short when Theodore turned around.

“Yeah, what’s up with that?” he asked. “Daphne said she was being a right cunt last night.”

“Mate, don’t—” Blaise tried.

“ _Language_ , Mr. Nott,” Snape warned him from where he’d overheard.

Theodore lowered his voice. “Point still stands. Is that why she’s hanging off you like one of McGonagall’s lemurs?”

Dagmar shrugged. “I didn’t hear anything last night. I was asleep before they came in.”

“Yeah, Daphne said you were lucky to miss it.” Theodore looked at Draco instead. “Any regrets yet?”

Draco’s focus tightened on the dropper he was filling with the honey water. “If it wasn’t clear enough for you last night, I don’t want to talk about her.”

“Well, her antics are starting to make Daphne feel uncomfortable in her dorm.”

“How’s that my problem?”

“You’re a prefect, for one,” Theodore said.

Draco’s lips drew into a dissatisfied purse.

“So talk to her,” Theodore carried on when Draco didn’t respond.

“You think she’ll listen to me?” Draco asked. “She’s more likely to go the opposite direction. Daphne’s a big girl, isn’t she? Tell her to tell Pansy to get her knickers out of a bunch.”

“Why don’t you?” Theodore turned back to Dagmar. “You’re her new bestie.”

“Erm. . .”

“Why don’t _you?_ ” Draco shot at him. “Now leave us alone before we bugger up our potion because you’re distracting us.”

Theodore rolled his eyes and flipped Draco his middle finger before returning to his own work. With his back between them again, Draco shook his head with a glance at Dagmar.

“Anyway,” Draco drawled from annoyance. “Since we don’t have any Defence homework, might as well get started on figuring out the Polyjuice Potion. What do you say?”

Dagmar hummed, uncertain. “I have a lot to do today. Double History of Magic this afternoon, then I need to do some prep for study hall. And I have Astronomy tonight.”

Draco nudged her under the desk with his foot.

“Well, I’ll be at the library regardless,” Dagmar said, catching on. “I’m sure I’ll have homework from Binns, and I’m not entirely convinced Snape is going to let us off like Parasca did.”

“If that’s the case, I guess I’ll be there too.”

The honey water turned their potion from yellow to turquoise. Dagmar stirred in the boom berry juice before letting it come back up to a simmer. It slowly thickened as they watched it for the next half hour. When it started bubbling at the edges, Draco took a sample of it to set aside and let cool. Dagmar periodically touched the backs of her fingers against its beaker, waiting for it to reach room temperature. It did with five minutes to spare until Snape’s deadline. Dagmar swished it as a test and was satisfied that it had thinned back out a bit.

“It’s done,” she told Draco. “So who’s taking the Sleeping Draught?”

“I will,” he volunteered with a shrug. “I bet he doesn’t actually give us any, though.”

At twelve-thirty, Snape came by to check on their work. He was just as satisfied as Dagmar by it, giving them both full marks. Dagmar held her hand up for a high-five as an acceptable way to make contact with Draco in the circumstance. Despite what Draco suspected, Snape called forward those that volunteered to take the Sleeping Draught. Draco returned to his and Dagmar’s seats with it, not pleased.

“I don’t get the point of taking this if he already said our potion was good,” he said.

The answer came after Dagmar revived him where he laid on the floor (“Couldn’t leave him like that for a little while?” Theodore had asked), when Snape asked them for five feet of parchment exploring the morality and complications of testing potion prototypes. More than a few jaws hit the floor at that number, but Dagmar expected no less for such a complex topic.

Draco waited for Dagmar while she gathered her things after dismissal. She’d meant to dawdle so that he could get out ahead of her, but he’d grown too comfortable with them being able to spend this little bit of time together.

She looked at him pointedly in the corridor. “See you.”

“Er—yeah. See you.”

They couldn’t say much more than that since they were surrounded by their classmates, but Draco managed a quick wink before heading off in another direction.


	6. After Curfew

Draco had an empty afternoon ahead of him. Blaise headed off for History of Magic at one-fifteen. Thankfully, Daphne had an empty block, so Theo cared as little about bothering Draco as Draco cared to tolerate it.

He headed for the library. No other students had made their way here yet. Draco didn’t blame them. He wouldn’t have either, if he could think of anywhere else to go. Dagmar would at least be proud of him for jumping so quickly on his homework. He might even have tips for her about Snape’s essay, if he got far enough ahead.

Draco started by jotting down some notes on the same piece of parchment he’d written the assignment on. For the morality of testing, Draco could see how it would be unacceptable to administer anything on someone that was either unaware or unwilling. The potioneer themselves was the superior choice, but it wasn’t the ideal one for achieving objective results. For instance, how did Draco know that the Wiggenweld Potion he’d taken earlier had actually been effective? Maybe he was still at the hands of the Sleeping Draught, and everything since Potions ended had been a dream.

For a less personal experience, Draco headed into the bookshelves to find the accounts of other potioneers through the ages. A lot of accounts he could write off, since the potioneers didn’t develop potions meant for use on intelligent creatures. Some biographies of famous potioneers passed over these details.

Draco found something promising in the published version of Glover Hipworth’s journal. While developing the Pepperup Potion, he could never rely on the samples he tried because one of the first iterations seemed to plague him with a cold that would never cease. He finally created a version of the potion that got rid of it for him. It was too strong for his wife, who tried it next. For the next year, her lungs were so open that she became lightheaded from any amount of heavy breathing. Hipworth had to dial it back and then find a new test subject before the Pepperup Potion could be marketable.

Thinking he could use this, Draco carried the book back toward his table. He stepped out of the aisle, and turned on his heel when he spotted Pansy near the library entrance. She hadn’t noticed him—or so Draco thought. His face screwed up by its own accord when she peered into the aisle.

“I’ve been looking for you everywhere,” she whispered as she approached.

“Can’t imagine why.” For something to do with himself that didn’t include looking at Pansy, Draco pulled another book off the shelf to mindlessly flip through. “Word around school is that you dumped me because you hate me. Or, you hate me now that you dumped me. Either way, I got the message loud and clear.”

Pansy pursed her lips, arms crossed while she leaned against the bookshelf.

“You can’t honestly expect me to come crawling back after that,” Draco added. “I would never make such a fool of myself.”

“You must understand why I had to,” she snapped. “You made a fool of _me,_ and you won’t even tell me why.”

“I did so,” Draco replied. “I wasn’t happy.”

“Did you realize that before or after you cheated on me?”

Draco’s head popped back up. He still wasn’t sure if Dagmar counted as cheating, even though he knew it was at least borderline. It might not matter what he and Dagmar had decided, if Pansy thought otherwise.

“I knew for a while,” Draco skirted the question. “You couldn’t tell?”

“No,” Pansy said. “You seemed normal to me.”

“You don’t see how that was the problem?”

Pansy pressed her lips together briefly. “Then why didn’t you ever tell me? We could’ve done something about it. I always did whatever you wanted me to.”

“That was another problem,” Draco said. “It’s exhausting to always be the one making decisions. It was like it was just me, and then you were along for the ride.”

“So why didn’t you say anything? Why just end it? You weren’t even interested in trying to make it work?”

Draco shook his head. “We’d gone on too long like that. It’s just who you are too, and that’s fine. It didn’t work for me anymore. It did when we were younger. I could tell it wouldn’t work in the long run if we couldn’t even get out of Hogwarts on the same page. I didn’t plan on staying in Britain, either. I didn’t want as many kids as you did, if any at all. It wasn’t fair of me to hold you hostage to all that.”

“You should have said something,” Pansy maintained. “Why would you agree with me about things like that if you didn’t really want to?”

“Because you didn’t ask very much in return. I thought it was only fair to give you what you wanted whenever you _did_ want something.”

“Why would you let that go on for so long, then? You knew as well as me that we were in it for life. I went with whatever you wanted because I wanted to make you happy. I thought it did.”

“Until a certain point.” Draco rubbed the bridge of his nose, exhaling. “Look, there’s a reason I didn’t stick around long when I told you it was off. We could talk forever about what wasn’t right, but I didn’t see it as fixable. I didn’t care enough to fix it when I thought about it. That’s what it all came down to.”

To Draco’s immense discomfort, Pansy’s eyes filled with tears. He wished she would walk away.

“I really am sorry,” he told her. “I didn’t want to hurt you. I cared enough for that. I thought it’d be better if it was quick.”

“Yeah, well, thanks. I don’t know how I’ll ever trust anyone again, after this.”

Draco’s guilt about leaving her centred around that. He didn’t mean to do something to Pansy that would have such a lasting effect. This would probably stick with her for the rest of her life.

“I’m sorry,” Draco repeated. “If it makes you feel any better, you dumping me can be the official story. You can tell everyone I cried, that I begged—whatever you want. It’s the least I could give you.”

“It _is_ the least.” Pansy studied Draco. “Do you still think I’m pretty?”

“Yes.” Even if Draco didn’t objectively find her that way, he would still say so for some sake of her self-esteem.

“So what would you think if. . .” Pansy reconsidered her approach. “I mean, just because things are over doesn’t mean we can’t still have _some_ sort of relationship, right?”

Draco’s stomach dropped when he realized what she was after. “Absolutely not.”

Whatever hope he’d had in repairing Pansy’s shredded sense of self-worth, Draco undid it just a little further. Pansy’s expression fell and shininess returned to her eyes. “So you’re still attracted to me, and even _that’s_ not enough for you to want me like that?”

Draco had no idea what to say at this point. Whatever he could come up with, Pansy didn’t seem like she’d be able to hear it. She finally left, but the horrible, sickly guilt that toiled in Draco’s gut was completely unwelcome. He lost all motivation to work on his Potions essay. While Draco waited for that to return, he pulled out a new piece of parchment and wrote in big letters that Quidditch tryouts for Slytherin would be held on—well, that was as far as Draco got, before realizing he needed to book the pitch.

That distracted him nicely through the afternoon. Madam Hooch was agreeable to let Draco have it for a few hours the following Saturday, so Draco headed to the common room with his half-finished sign. After spending an inordinate amount of time filling out the block letters he’d made, he put it up on the noticeboard.

Afternoon double-blocks let out at three o’clock. Draco listened for the bell so he could catch Dagmar at the library, if that was where she wound up. He didn’t even care at this point if he could actually sit with her, he just wanted to see her. It would make him feel better after his conversation with Pansy.

He got there a little after three-fifteen. Whatever happiness Draco experienced to spot Dagmar was cancelled out by Pansy right beside her. So much for avoiding her, but Draco didn’t place any fault on Dagmar for not managing either. She didn’t look entirely happy.

Pansy noticed Draco first, her eyes narrowing. Draco figured that since he was here, he might as well stick to his plan as far as working on his essay for Snape. Dagmar and Pansy would both be distracting, so Draco opted to sit with his back to them. Whispering sounded behind him, but Draco couldn’t hear what Pansy was telling Dagmar. It at least made him feel better that Dagmar didn’t have much to say in return.

Draco hadn’t gotten very far on his essay at all by the time dinner came around. Quidditch was a popular discussion along the Slytherin table. With so much else on his mind, Draco had almost forgotten about the sign he put up.

Blaise’s face was long again, which wasn’t saying much, since he’d seemed in the pits all day. He made room for Draco to sit down.

“So what’s that on the Quidditch poster about all positions being available?” he asked.

“Exactly what it says.” Draco reached for some Yorkshire puddings. “No guaranteed spots this year.”

“Can I show up to try for the Seeker position, then?”

Draco turned raised eyebrows on Blaise, who smirked.

“Show up for Chaser again,” Draco replied. “You’ll probably get it. You did good last year.”

That seemed to cheer Blaise up as he put his back to Draco and resumed his conversation with Professor Parasca’s son. Draco was left to his own device yet again. His dinner didn’t taste quite as good without company, and he couldn’t help but glumly peer down the table since Dagmar was in his sight. Pansy had yet to detach herself from Dagmar’s side.

Draco swallowed the mashed potatoes in his mouth before heading down toward where Dagmar sat. She faced away, her jaw in her hand while she listened to Pansy. Pansy looked up first, her features darkening. Dagmar’s spine straightened, although she managed to suppress any relief to see him spare the glimmer of it in her eyes.

“Were we still on to meet at the library after supper?” he asked.

“Oh—ja.” Dagmar blinked. Draco could see her working through how they’d make it work for the narrative they tried to build, but clearly the drive to get away from Pansy won out for her automatic answer. “I’ll find you, or you find me. . .whatever.”

“Right.”

Draco returned to his seat. He hated how things were so damn awkward between them when they couldn’t act natural, but he also saw the advantage of it when Pansy had such a close seat to their relationship.

Theo studied Draco with interest, across from him. “What was that about?”

“We’re going to get started on studying the Polyjuice Potion.” Draco returned to his puddings.

“You know,” Theo pointed his fork at Draco, “I think I’ve seen you talk to Ramstad more times today than you did all of last year. Are we striking a fancy?”

“I’ve talked to her fewer times than you’ve stuck your nose where it doesn’t belong,” Draco told him. “Why are you so interested in what everyone else is doing? Focus on your own thing.”

Theo and Daphne shared a look.

“She _is_ really nice,” Daphne told Draco. “And pretty.”

“What do you think, Blaise?” Theo lifted his chin at him. “You and Ramstad get on well enough, don’t you? Draco got a chance?”

Blaise shook his head, gaze still on his plate. “Look, mate, we all know you’re excited about being engaged. That doesn’t mean you need to start playing matchmaker, now you know who’s all available.”

“What _he_ said.” Draco pointed his thumb at Blaise. “I think we’re all capable enough on our own to figure things out.”

“Oh, and we weren’t?”

“That’s not what I was saying, and you know it,” Draco replied. “You two were always comfortable with each other. I don’t think a betrothal would’ve changed anything.”

The (unexpected) flattery at least got Theo off Draco’s case. He was more content to share a smile with Daphne before she rested her head on Theo’s shoulder. Draco missed when Dagmar could do that so openly. He couldn’t help but glance sideways down the table again at her while pretending to focus on his dinner.

Draco lingered at the Slytherin table after Dagmar left to avoid looking too eager, idly listening to Luca explain what a strigoi was after Draco, Blaise, Theo, and Daphne all said they hadn’t even attempted to answer that on Professor Parasca’s quiz.

“So they’re like vampires?” Blaise asked.

Luca wrinkled his nose while making a noise. “Not entirely. They’re more particular toward feeding on moroi—think like a benevolent vampire—than humans. Strigoi will also feed on regular vampires if they have to. Whatever it feeds on will turn into one of them, so da, they share that trait with vampires. They can also shape-shift into animals. Mamă was chasing one in Albania back when I was young, but it got away. She never forgot that. Came out of retirement for a while and everything for it.”

“One last hunt?” Theo smirked.

“I suppose.” Luca picked at the pastry that sat on his otherwise empty plate. “Normally strigoi would be left to Magical Creatures Regulation, but this one was particularly intelligent. They thought it might be human enough to benefit from an Auror consultation. Even then. . .”

Draco nodded along with everyone else. He’d begrudgingly accepted the intelligence of magical creatures after his incident with the hippogriff third year, and seeing the dragons during the Triwizard Tournament sparked in him respect for anyone that might be able to handle something so formidable. Spirits or beings were on a completely different plane than beasts, though. Draco wanted nothing at all to do with that kind of creature handling.

“Well,” Draco said. “I should get on before Ramstad thinks I forgot about her.”

Although Theo smirked in a knowing way, he didn’t say anything this time. Were Theo not acting like such a fool about everybody else too, Draco might be more concerned about what he possibly gave away. Nobody else seemed to agree there was something there. Daphne had been more encouraging than suggestive when she piggybacked on Theo’s observation.

Draco headed down to the dorms to collect his Potions stuff, and doubled back to the library. Dagmar was seated in the same place he’d seen her earlier. Pansy had thankfully made herself scarce. Draco had to tense his cheek muscles against a smile.

“Hey.” Dagmar stood up to move some books out of the way so that Draco could sit across from her. “Sorry, just a moment.”

Draco set his bag down beside the chair before taking it. Since he only faced a wall behind Dagmar, he didn’t feel as obligated to hide how his fondness for her naturally arose.

“So we’re working on our Polyjuice Potion, are we?” she asked as she resumed her seat.

“We can.” Draco shrugged. “I only said that as a cover. I’ve got the Potions homework as well.”

“Binns assigned an essay as well today.” Dagmar wrinkled her nose. “Have you done anything yet on the Polyjuice Potion?”

Draco shook his head. “I did some work on Professor Snape’s essay this afternoon, though. Just research so far.”

Just as Draco thought she might be, Dagmar seemed impressed. Her eyebrows went up and her mouth pulled down at the corners. She made a little noise in her throat.

“Not like I had anything better to do.” Draco shrugged.

“I saw the Quidditch poster.”

“I multi-tasked.”

Dagmar smiled warmly at him.

“So what’re you working on?” Draco asked.

“Polyjuice, since that’s what you said we would.” Dagmar had brought along her copy of _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_ , which she held aloft to show Draco. “We do have other pressing homework, if you don’t mind. Binns’ essay is only three feet, but due Thursday. Professor Snape at least gave us a week.”

“I could keep going on that.” Draco brought the notes he’d made out of his bag. “Or I could work on it later, if you’d rather we got a jump on his project. What were you doing with Magical Herbs and Fungi?”

Draco ended up pulling that toward him so that he could pick up where Dagmar left off. The ingredients detailed in Phyllida Spore’s book were the most common ones used in potion-making. Dagmar had made some notes about a couple contenders for stabilizing agents while going through the book in alphabetical order. Draco skipped ahead instead to see what Spore had to say about fluxweed and lacewing flies.

It turned out to be not much more than Draco already knew. Fluxweed had to be picked during the full moon (he’d already made a note to ask Professor Sprout about it mid-morning Thursday). Lacewing flies had to be stewed prior to use, but different lengths of stewing resulted in different magical properties.

“This is going to be a fickle potion,” Draco whispered over the sound of Dagmar’s dashing quill. It stopped as she lifted her chin. “I don’t see much of a pattern on how the length of time spent stewing alters lacewing fly uses.”

“Can I see?”

Draco flipped the book so that she could read the lacewing fly entry. Her brow furrowed, and her lips moved silently as she read. A short piece of hair wavered against her nose before she tucked it mindlessly behind her ear.

“We might be able to narrow it down a bit once we figure out other possible ingredients,” she said. “If not, we could stew a massive pot and start a new Polyjuice Potion at each time increment—or at least the most likely ones. I’m not sure Professor Snape would be impressed if we took over the student lab with thirty different cauldrons, though. It’s a lot of wasted ingredients.”

“I also wouldn’t know where to find thirty cauldrons.”

Dagmar exhaled in amusement. “Let’s stick to researching ingredients for now, and then see how everything measures up.”

“What exactly should I be looking for?” Draco asked.

“Anything that suggests duality or change, like fluxweed or lacewing flies do.” Dagmar dipped her quill so that she could continue with her History of Magic essay. “I was also just writing down every stabilizing or base ingredient for a reference later. They’ll all interact differently with whatever main ingredients we choose to focus on.”

“Okay.”

Draco flipped back to where Dagmar had left off earlier. Comfortable silence fell between them as they lapsed back into work along with the rest of the library. The occasional sniffle or rustle of parchment sounded behind them.

Periodically, usually when Draco turned a page or copied something over, he would glance up at Dagmar. Once or twice he caught her doing the same thing, which made it all the harder not to fall back toward how they’d spent the last few weeks of summer. Studying was regularly punctuated by sex to the point they probably did that more than focused on their books.

Draco didn’t work on anything taxing enough that his mind couldn’t wander. There were plenty of places that he and Dagmar could slip off to—nooks that Draco had discovered over the last three years. The problem with most of them was that, while Draco had never been busted, Pansy knew about them as well. The only two places Draco thought safest were the Room of Requirement and the prefects’ bathrooms.

He and Dagmar hadn’t bothered to learn restraint over the summer, so Draco had to work for it now. He resorted to his periodic glances up and chanced resting his foot against hers under the table. When he nudged her, one corner of her mouth pulled up before her gaze followed.

She tore a slip off a spare piece of parchment and dashed something down before sliding it across the table to Draco: _Don’t get too ahead of yourself. I went on the rag last night._

Draco wrote a response: _And?_

Dagmar raised her eyebrows at him and wrote at-length before giving the parchment back: _It’s been rougher than I thought it would be. I actually got lightheaded after standing up at the end of History of Magic. Literally the last thing I feel right now is attractive._

_Doesn’t seem to have any effect on my opinion of you._

The smile returned to her face before Dagmar responded: _When do you do your last rounds of the dungeon?_

_At final curfew. 11_

_Astronomy lets out at 10:45. To be clear so you don’t get your hopes up, I don’t feel up for a shag. But I would like to see you if I could?_

_Take the long way around the dungeons to the common room. Nobody else would that close to curfew. They better not if they don’t want to get in trouble._

Dagmar chuckled to herself before stowing the parchment piece in her bag. Draco wished they could use their messengers, but Dagmar had been right about how widespread they were through Hogwarts. Anybody that could afford them (and a few Draco suspected probably couldn’t) had one. Draco had a bet for ten galleons riding with Blaise that McGonagall would start Transfiguration off the next day saying she’d confiscate any that she saw. Blaise didn’t think she’d even give their class a warning.

As nine o’clock approached, both Draco and Dagmar kept a closer eye on the time. Draco had to go make sure no third-years and below were out past their curfew, and Dagmar had to head up to the Astronomy tower. Packing up his bag, Draco’s heart grew a little heavy about not being able to properly bid Dagmar goodbye. At least the two of them could make it up a couple hours later.

Draco decided to stay in the Slytherin quarters after escorting some first-years from where they’d gotten lost in the dungeons. The dorm was empty. After a hot shower, Draco pulled the curtain shut around his bed and sat on the edge with his messenger across his lap. He hadn’t bothered to dismiss Dagmar’s words from that morning. Draco smirked again at the mental image of what her reaction might have been to read his request, but then he realized that _‘That’s so filthy’_ wasn’t exactly a no.

Draco’s dorm-mates started rolling in around quarter-after-ten. Crabbe and Goyle came first, Crabbe mumbling something about a shower. Goyle was quiet spare the rustling that came with undressing over by his bed. Draco pulled his cloak back on and headed for the exit to avoid either of them further.

After seeing to it that the dungeons were empty, Draco lingered in wait for the sound of Dagmar’s footsteps. The castle was so quiet that Draco’s mind kept tricking him towards them. When he finally heard the echoing pats of shoes against stone, he poked his head out.

“Hey,” he said in hopes he wouldn’t scare Dagmar before alerting her of his presence. She still jumped a little, but quickly recovered with a new grin. Her step quickened as she got closer. She guided him into the room past the nook he’d emerged from.

Draco’s lower abdomen glowed warm as she brought him closer by a hand on his jaw. Her thumb was as soft on his cheek as her lips were against his, and all the invisible tension Draco had retained throughout the day departed from his shoulders with a single exhale. Dagmar brought Draco into an embrace afterward, occasionally kissing his cheek and whatever else she could get to.

“What a long day without you,” Draco lamented.

Dagmar chuckled. “We got to spend more time together than I thought we would.”

“That’s true.” Draco had thought they wouldn’t see each other at all, and that Dagmar would essentially pretend he didn’t exist. “Nobody asked you about it?”

“Nei, but I’m prepared.” Dagmar ran her hands down Draco’s upper arms as she pulled back. “I had an idea in Astronomy. You asked me about your study hall ban, right? I’m doing a test-run with you this week. Sorry to say, but for the sake of that story, you’re going to have to spend your evenings with me in the library.”

“Pity.” Draco smirked. “I might keep up on my homework.”

“I’m seriously wondering if I will.” Concern flickered into Dagmar’s features. “Three essays assigned in one day, and over ten feet of parchment between them all. Professor Parasca will probably give one Friday, and there’ll probably be three more tomorrow between Flitwick, McGonagall, and Vector. . .”

“Maybe you’re taking on too much.”

“Nei,” Dagmar refuted right away. “I was just as strapped last year, and I managed. It would have been a waste to take the first half of the NEWT course if I didn’t intend to follow through to the exam.”

“Just a suggestion.” Draco squeezed her hand. “You still get to do your homework in study hall, don’t you? Even if you run it?”

Dagmar nodded. “I’m probably not going to sign up as an actual aide. I’ll just oversee it, and all. So I have to sit there until dinner, but unless someone is really stumped, I probably won’t be bothered much.”

“You were taking me on personally, though, weren’t you?”

“Ja, that’s still true.” Dagmar leaned in for a chaste kiss. “I’ll frame that as that I’m sparing the aides.”

“Makes me feel so good about myself, when you put it that way.”

“About how you used to be,” Dagmar corrected him.

Draco still doubted it would ever matter how he behaved this year, but it was hard to experience any pangs of regret when Dagmar regarded him with so much admiration. At the end of it all, nobody else mattered. Whatever Dagmar had to do in the meantime to see that they got to be as close as possible, Draco would just have to swallow his pride.

“So, what exactly is the story on you and Pansy?” Draco asked.

He suppressed his laughter as Dagmar’s face fell rapidly into an expression of annoyance. She rolled her eyes.

“I have no idea,” Dagmar said. “Well, actually, that’s not true. She’s on the outs with Millicent because she implied last night Millicent’s parents couldn’t find anyone that would agree to an arrangement with her. As for Daphne, I think she’s just jealous of her and Theo.”

“Probably.”

“So by the process of elimination, I guess I’m the lucky new best friend.” Dagmar sighed. “I hope it’s not long before she remembers she doesn’t actually like me. I’m not sure that’s even a factor, really. I’m better than being alone. Any advice?”

Draco hummed. “Not really. I broke up with her almost two months ago and she still won’t leave me alone.”

“Oh, ja, I heard you propositioned her.”

Draco’s heart fell into his stomach and he opened his mouth to vehemently deny that, but Dagmar cut the forthcoming effort short with a dismissive wave of her hand.

“I didn’t believe it,” Dagmar told him. “I learned pretty fast with Pansy that when it comes to you, anything she says is most likely the exact opposite of what really happened. She came onto _you_ , then?”

“Yes.” Draco toed the cobblestone, mouth contorted into a sneer. “She doesn’t know when to quit. We were talking because she wanted more answers on why we broke up, and then she came out with that. She clearly has no interest in even _trying_ to move on, despite what she’s telling everyone else about how things ended. I told her I don’t care if her story is the official one we go with. Maybe she’ll convince herself she really _did_ dump me, and then she can leave me alone.”

“That’s all fine and good for you, but what about me?” Dagmar nudged him. “How do _I_ get rid of her?”

“Quickest way seems to be associating with me.” Draco shrugged. “She avoids me like the plague where anyone else might see.”

“Well. . .that gives us after dinner every day, at least.” Dagmar pressed her lips together briefly. “It’s a shame. I have other friends I’d like to spend time with too, but nobody will come within ten feet of me while she’s there. I hope they all know me well enough to know I had no choice in the matter.”

“Don’t worry, you looked properly miserable,” Draco assured her. “Still, I think now we ought to reevaluate how much time we can spend together. It’s clearly more than we thought, although I’ll be completely up-front that Theo’s already teasing me about possibly fancying you.”

“He caught on that fast?”

“He might not have if he wasn’t so bloody bent on matching everyone up that didn’t get engaged this summer.” Draco folded his arms. “Blaise told him at dinner to knock it off, so we’ll see. Daphne was trying to encourage me toward it.”

“Toward what?”

“Fancying you. Bit late, but I’ll take it.”

To Draco’s relief, given Dagmar’s fear of being noticed so soon, Dagmar chuckled. She quickly returned to seriousness about it. “What did Blaise think?”

“Hard to say. He’s been sort of mopey all day, but he isn’t telling anybody about you and him. Theo asked after any arrangements last night, and he just said his mum never set him up with anyone.”

Dagmar bunched her lips off to one side. “I wish I could know where he’s at with it all. We haven’t talked, so I haven’t had a chance to ask how he is. I’m debating if I even should. It’s not so lovely when the person that hurt you asks after it, you know?”

“You’re probably best to let him take the first step.”

“If there is one.”

Draco hated to see her so glum. She at least squeezed back when he slipped a hand into hers.

“I don’t know that we have much more to factor in than that,” Dagmar said. “I think for at least this week, we know what we can do. I’ll sit behind you in Potions for now, until Professor Snape asks us to find a partner for class. We’ll meet in the library every evening after dinner unless something else comes up. No Quidditch practice yet?”

Draco shook his head. “That won’t be until after tryouts, and that’s next Saturday.”

“Okay.”

“You could even just take pity on me,” Draco said. “You know, if anyone asks why we’re doing homework together. I’m lonely, and when I’m lonely, I get pathetic.”

“Aw, I hope you’re not really lonely, though.”

“Well. . .” Draco shrugged. “No lonelier than I ever was before.”

“Don’t say that,” Dagmar crooned while bringing him back into a hug. “I’m sorry, hjertet mitt.”

“It’s okay.” Draco turned his nose into the crook of her neck anyway. “So long as we get to see each other at all, I’ll be fine.”

“We will,” Dagmar assured him. “There’s always this too, late when there aren’t any other students out. You won’t dock me points for being out after curfew, will you?”

“What’s the point of being a prefect if you don’t bend the rules just a little bit to your advantage?”

Dagmar snorted against Draco’s shoulder before pushing it back flush against the wall. Draco grew cautiously optimistic about the way she rubbed his hip and nibbled his bottom lip before properly kissing him. His heart picked up as her tongue teased his.

“I was thinking,” she said, “a full-on shag is probably off the table until I’m off the rag and we figure out the whole location thing, but this is secluded enough. I could at least do something for you?”

Draco’s cheeks were one of a few new places blood flooded to. His eyes widened as Dagmar slipped her fingertips into the waistline of his trousers.

He swallowed. “Like I’m going to say no.”

Dagmar grinned before kissing him again. While she did, she worked on fully opening Draco’s cloak. She was working on his belt when she happened to glance down. Dagmar paused, confusing Draco until he remembered that he’d slipped his Nice shirt on under his jumper for easier transport.

“Oh yeah,” he said. “You still wanted it?”

Dagmar’s smile spoke for her as she nuzzled Draco’s shoulder. “And you’ll get your half of the deal as soon as it’s possible.”

The prospect of that brought up the temperature of Draco’s blood. He groaned against Dagmar’s mouth as she touched him through his trousers before returning to work on his belt. His heart pounded when the cooler dungeon air became more obvious.

“Just relax and enjoy yourself,” Dagmar murmured, her breath pelting Draco’s lips. “I’ll listen for anyone that might come by.”

He nodded, mouth drying as Dagmar lowered herself. The light coming in from the corridor was still only enough just to see her silhouette, but a warm mouth closing around him was more than his other senses could ever wish to offer.

Draco thought that because they weren’t guaranteed privacy here, it would incite Dagmar to rush. She normally liked to take her time, intentions split between learning and enjoying the process. Draco was happy they hadn’t lost that spirit. He could still run his fingers leisurely through her hair and get lost in watching her. The only painful thing about it was that, when she was done, Draco couldn’t reciprocate.

Despite Dagmar’s assurances that Draco didn’t have to worry about listening for anyone, he still did in the back of his mind. The closer he got to finishing, the less attention he paid. He squeezed Dagmar’s shoulder in warning, but she didn’t back off.

“Hey. . .”

She looked up when Draco glanced down. That Dagmar knowingly stayed close was about all Draco could handle. Her brow furrowed in concentration, her movements less nuanced, and Draco’s legs trembled from it.

His chest still heaved as Dagmar put his trousers back together. Draco had enough mind to offer her a hand up. She was a little shaky on her feet after kneeling for so long.

Dagmar sighed as she leaned against him. “Sure wish I could get something.”

“You will, soon as you let me.”

She chuckled breathlessly. “I’m glad you’re comfortable with the idea of me having a period, but I don’t think you fully appreciate just how much of a mess it is.”

“I probably don’t.”

Still, because Pansy had always left it a mystery and it was so matter-of-factly explained in the book Draco had, he was left almost more fascinated than curious about the experience. He and Dagmar had been through so much together in just the last few months that it was strange she go through something he never could fully empathize with.

“We at least have something we can do in the meantime.” Dagmar nuzzled his neck. “I enjoy doing that for you. Other than having to take care of myself later in the shower, I don’t feel like I’m missing all that much.”

“I do,” Draco jested. He understood completely the unique joy that came from watching someone he loved slowly unravel.

Dagmar yawned. “Speaking of that, I still need one before I go to bed.”

Draco embraced her one more time before they’d have to part ways. He would’ve liked to tag along to the shower, and most certainly to Dagmar’s bed. “Before you go. . .”

Dagmar held Draco’s shed cloak for a moment, then traded him for the Nice shirt. She smiled. “Thanks. I know it was a silly thing to ask for.”

“Not at all.”

“I hope it’ll help me sleep.” Dagmar rested a hand on Draco’s chest as she leaned in to kiss him. “Good night.”


	7. Versus the World

Dagmar woke up to her alarm clock come morning feeling disoriented. It had jarred her out of a good dream that she immediately forgot the contents of. She remembered how it made her feel at least, which carried her through dressing and collecting her Charms textbook for first lesson. Her good mood made it hard not to smile at or otherwise acknowledge Draco at the Slytherin table. Seeing Daphne and Theodore sitting together especially made Dagmar wish she and Draco could do the same.

“Morning,” Pansy greeted her as she dropped down beside. “You have Charms first, right?”

However much it tempted Dagmar to lie, she wouldn’t get away with it. Pansy would show up to the same classroom. “Mhm.”

“Cool.”

Pansy started piling toast and sausages onto her plate. It didn’t bother Dagmar as much today to see her spritz ketchup all over the meat, since she herself did the same. Dagmar’s appetite tentatively returned now that she wasn’t so nauseous. Getting back into a normal routine at school seemed to have helped her out of the slump she arrived at Hogwarts in.

“Could you pass that bacon along?” Pansy asked Dagmar. Her gaze flicked up from the full platter, and her nose wrinkled. She tsked. “Oh, come on. Is that necessary, do you think?”

Dagmar looked down the table as well. Daphne and Theodore were canoodling. She couldn’t help but snicker at Draco, Blaise, and Luca’s expense on the opposite side. They didn’t look very comfortable with the display right in front of them.

“So ridiculous,” Pansy said. “You’d think as a prefect Draco would tell them just to knock it off. Guess he’s lonely enough to take whatever he can possibly get, even if it’s just watching someone else. How sad.”

Dagmar had to bite her tongue. Pansy and Draco had been far worse at times. More than once, Dagmar had developed second-hand embarrassment by Pansy taking a place in Draco’s lap when there was plenty of seating space.

“It’s not really that bad,” Dagmar said. “I’ve seen worse.”

Pansy still looked like she wanted to complain about it. Her lips were pursed and, rather than just ignore it like everyone else, she let her gaze travel down that way over and over again.

Dagmar left breakfast before Pansy was finished eating, in hopes that she might find seating beside someone else for Charms. The only person that had arrived before her was Hermione.

“Hey,” Dagmar greeted her. “Anyone sitting here?”

Hermione lifted her attention from the Charms textbook. “No, go ahead.”

Relieved, Dagmar set her bag on the seat so that she could unpack what she might need for the class.

“To be honest, I wasn’t sure you’d care to let me,” Dagmar told her. “Not after Defence yesterday. I got the sense from you and Potter and Weasley that you still weren’t impressed with how I won my duel.”

“Well. . .” With a shrug, Hermione pressed her lips together into something akin to a smile. “ _I_ thought it was smart thinking on your feet. Harry and Ron were complaining about it again last night, but I asked them if they would still think it was unfair if _you_ had disarmed Harry and _he_ used wandless magic. They didn’t answer me, so that’s a no.”

“Boys.”

“You have no idea.”

The two of them laughed, which helped Dagmar ease back into the casual friendship she’d enjoyed with Hermione since first year. It was a relief to Dagmar, after the uncomfortable summer she’d had. If her arm would just stop hurting, she could almost manage to convince herself that the Ministry raid, her trip to Paris, and her duel (if she could legitimately call it that) with Voldemort hadn’t happened.

“Good summer, then?” Hermione asked. “How was Nice?”

“Wonderful.” Dagmar kept her answer simple. “Definitely the getaway I needed before we got back to it here. Can you believe the homework we’ve got already? Good thing Professor Parasca showed us some mercy.”

“Snape more than made up for it, didn’t he?” Hermione tucked some of her curly hair behind her ear. “I don’t even know where to begin on making Veritaserum. Of course, I’m sure Snape is a master at making it, so his bar will be very high.”

“I’m feeling okay about making Polyjuice Potion,” Dagmar replied. “Draco and I started researching it last night. So far it doesn’t seem the ingredients will be the hard part, but the time it takes. We need to ask Professor Sprout about some fluxweed, and it was just our luck that the full moon peaked about six hours before Snape assigned that to us. We’re already waiting another month before we can really get started.”

“There’s still plenty of research to do in the meantime.”

“What I’m really hoping to do is at least narrow down what length of time we would need to stew lacewing flies for.” Dagmar sighed. “Draco and I looked it over in Magical Herbs, but the stewing times are really inconsistent for what results you want.”

“Hm, yeah.” Hermione toyed with her quill. “That’s tricky.”

“Have you started researching your Veritaserum yet?”

“No,” Hermione huffed. “Ron wouldn’t last night, and I refuse to do it alone.”

“. . .All right, I’m here, you can quit complaining about me,” Weasley said as he and Potter arrived at the pair of desks behind Dagmar and Hermione. “Bloody hell Hermione, it’s not like we didn’t have enough homework to worry about _without_ Snape’s project.”

“I must have dozed off and missed when we were assigned five games of Exploding Snap.”

Dagmar snorted, although cut herself short when Weasley narrowed an eye at her. Potter laughed too without similar backlash, so clearly Weasley’s disapproval had nothing to do with the reaction itself. Feeling even more like the odd one out, Dagmar faced forward. The amount of dislike emanating from behind her almost made it more appealing to go and sit by Pansy after all.

The rest of the class filed in, filling the room with a droning humdrum as everyone chatted with their friends nearby. Dagmar idly watched them all. Since nobody paid attention to Dagmar, she let her gaze wander to the other side of the class, where Draco had taken a seat next to Blaise. She didn’t bother looking away when he glanced over, and smiled when his gaze returned to her.

The classroom door snapped shut. Everyone fell silent and, although Dagmar couldn’t see Professor Flitwick heading to the front of the room, she could hear his footsteps. Beyond the crowd of students, he appeared near his desk.

“Good morning!” he greeted them all. “Let’s get right to it, shall we?”

Beside Dagmar, Hermione put her book away while Flitwick took attendance. Dagmar’s attention wandered after her own name was called, and didn’t come back until she heard Blaise say ‘here’.

“We’re going to start off with a little bit of review,” Flitwick squeaked as he headed around the room with a familiar box. Dagmar suppressed a groan at the prospect of being handed a feather, for she had a good feeling of what was coming. “It _shouldn’t_ take you all long, but we’ll see how you do. I’d like everyone to successfully perform a Levitating Charm using nonverbal magic. Once you’re back up to snuff with it, attempt to do so verbally but without your wands. Yes—we will be touching upon wandless magic to start this year off. Now, I overheard in the staff room yesterday that one of you has already proven yourself sufficient?”

He stopped mid-aisle, looking around. Dagmar’s cheeks warmed as multiple pairs of eyes landed on her. She hesitantly raised her hand.

“Glorious!” Flitwick carried on with his box. “And with a Stunning Spell, no less! Today should be quite easy for you then, Ms. Ramstad.”

Despite her embarrassment to be called out like that in class, Professor Flitwick’s enthusiasm flattered Dagmar. She was glad that someone other than the Slytherins and Hermione could appreciate what an impressive little bit of magic it was.

Lots of feathers in the room remained stationary for the first quarter-hour, while Dagmar, Hermione, and a few others including Draco and Ernie had already put their wands away and were staring unblinking at the feather on their desk while repeating the incantation with various degrees of vigour.

“Remember, you still need to move your hands the same way you would your wand,” Flitwick said to the class at-large. He walked past Ernie then, lifting his feather into the air as if waving his hand brought a breeze through. “Without your wand, you lack a focus for how you pluck the strands of magic that infuse our universe. You still can, but it requires much more concentration than you would be normally accustomed to.”

By that logic, Dagmar thought making a feather float would be easier than what she had managed in the middle of a duel. There had to be some kind of addendum to combat similar to underaged magic use, where a sense of urgency amplified intention.

“That wasn’t so bad,” Hermione said shortly before ten o’clock. Her feather floated above her desk, framed by her hands to keep it aloft.

“I’m getting there,” Dagmar replied. She’d gotten her feather off her desk, but was having trouble holding it.

“Excellent work, Ms. Granger!” Flitwick said as he came by their side of the classroom. “Ten points to Gryffindor. For a little extra challenge, why don’t you move on? Try to do so wandless _and_ nonverbally.”

Hermione had it nailed by the end of class. Dagmar had grown confident with using the incantation, but hadn’t made much progress at all while keeping her mouth shut. She could feel it was different, but couldn’t put into words how. She would know by the next Charms lesson on Monday, thanks to the essay Flitwick assigned on that very subject. He also expected them to be able to cast a simple Levitating Charm nonverbally without their wands.

“I feel like a first year again, walking out with my feather,” Dagmar told Hermione as they left together. “Back to the beginning.”

Hermione laughed. “See you in Transfiguration.”

Dagmar had to run down to her dorm to grab her textbook. Since Pansy hadn’t made a high enough OWL grade for the class, she wasn’t as bent toward the dungeons as Dagmar. Dagmar passed her on her way back upstairs, but Pansy wouldn’t look at her. She was probably mad that Dagmar had chosen to sit by Hermione instead in Charms, which didn’t much bother Dagmar.

She was just as happy to take her seat again beside Hermione while they waited for McGonagall. Transfiguration was Dagmar’s second-smallest class after Potions, with only fourteen students. She, Draco, and Blaise were the only Slytherins to have made McGonagall’s stringent requirements.

Much like when Snape entered his classroom, everyone ended their conversations immediately as McGonagall showed up. She strode to the front of the class, bid them a brisk good morning, and then set them into their first lesson.

It didn’t turn out much different than Charms had been. There was a trend toward wandless magic, which McGonagall told them practicing would hone their abilities with a focus for the last leg of their education. Dagmar could’ve benefited from more time studying with Flitwick before coming to Transfiguration. McGonagall set them a task that nobody had accomplished by the end of class: conjuring a phantom light without use of their wands. While Hermione had left Charms looking comfortable and proud, she was as beaten down as everyone else when they left Transfiguration with even more homework. Yet again, Dagmar was starting to feel panicked about just how much accumulated versus how much she’d been able to whittle away.

“You don’t have a class after Arithmancy, do you?” Dagmar asked Hermione as she took a seat with her for lunch at the Gryffindor table.

Hermione shook her head. “I’m sure Professor Vector will have even more to heap on to everything else, so I’m heading straight to the library. I should probably start by making some kind of priority list. All the due dates are starting to blend together since I’m not overly familiar with the class schedule yet.”

“I’ll join you on that, if you’d like some company,” Dagmar said. “I’m heading to the library too.”

Dagmar much preferred a day spent with Hermione over Pansy. She happened to glance over at the Slytherin table during lunch to see Pansy sitting glumly by herself. If Pansy hadn’t been so awful to Dagmar over the years, Dagmar might feel worse for it. It wasn’t Dagmar’s responsibility to ensure Pansy’s happiness after she’d alienated Millicent and Daphne. Sure, Daphne was preoccupied with Theodore, but Millicent was just as on her own as Pansy right now. The two of them couldn’t stay angry at each other for long.

Hermione was right that Professor Vector had even more work to heap on. Feeling utterly saddled, Dagmar followed Hermione to the library. Both of them commenced work on Snape’s essay after figuring out their priorities.

Dagmar recalled mention of a book that Draco used for help on his. While she searched for it in the aisle he’d pointed out, Dagmar’s arm gave a throb powerful enough to make her wince. It had annoyed her all morning when she didn’t use her wand in class. Dagmar pushed through it because she refused to sacrifice her education for a little bit of discomfort.

After looking up and down the aisle, Dagmar slid back her jumper sleeve to get a better look at it. Her arm had settled into a tight stiffness that Dagmar could feel her heartbeat through. She hoped she was imagining it was getting worse. The bruise-like structures underneath her skin were more visible than they’d been yesterday.

Since it got worse after using magic without her wand, Dagmar figured she might understand why it was so irritated on this side of the morning’s lessons. So far, half of her classes had included that in one way or another. Dagmar couldn’t feasibly carry on like this.

She didn’t bother to tell Hermione anything about where she was going. Halfway to the hospital wing, Dagmar’s step slowed. She was trying to come up with a reason for how she may have sustained this injury that didn’t include the truth, but she didn’t know enough about it to convince Madam Pomfrey. Hesitantly, Dagmar headed instead for the nearest dungeon entrance. If she could, she’d like to keep the number of people that knew about this to a minimum.

To Dagmar’s luck, Snape didn’t currently teach a class. His office door sat open. He didn’t seem to hear Dagmar approach. Snape sat at his desk bent over a stack of parchment. He dashed something across the top sheet with his quill. The red ink he used resembled blood in colour.

“Professor?”

He looked up, focus broken. “Ms. Ramstad. What do you need?”

“I was hoping to talk to you about something.” Dagmar leaned against the door frame. “Do you have time?”

“Take a seat.”

While Dagmar did, Snape put the stopper back into his ink and set it all aside. He folded his hands on his desk. Dagmar did the same with hers in her lap.

“First, I wanted to apologize about you having to come to Paris on my behalf.” It had occurred to Dagmar halfway here that she ought to. “I didn’t mean for that to happen.”

“It’s fine,” Snape replied in his usual, quiet voice. In his silent office, it almost sounded a regular volume. “Professor Dumbledore would have, were he not up here at the time. I was closer, so I volunteered.”

Dagmar nodded. “I appreciate your help. I almost hate to, but I need to ask for it again. I don’t really know who else could. It feels like too much to explain to Madam Pomfrey.”

Snape lifted his chin to better see when Dagmar pushed up the left sleeve of her jumper. In the dim light of his dungeon, the discolouration was most apparent. Snape’s brow furrowed as he looked at it.

“This happened after I used that curse,” Dagmar explained. “It seemed to be getting better, but it’s flaring up again now that we’re using wandless magic in class. I’m not sure what to do about it. It’s getting more painful too.”

Snape took up his wand. With a flick of it, his office door closed. “What likely happened is, because that curse was beyond your practice level, it burnt your magic conduits. It doesn’t help either that you conjured lightning, which is destructive enough on its own.”

He opened a cupboard behind his desk. Inside were a series of small bottles. Snape took something out, and secured the cupboard again before moving to another that wasn’t locked. He returned to his desk with a large bottle full of green liquid. The smaller one was off-white.

“These two potions might help. They certainly wouldn’t hurt to try,” Snape said. “This is regular burn salve—” Snape poured some into a small mixing cauldron, “—and this is a cleansing potion. Very potent, so we could try just a little bit to start and see how it works.”

The low-key panic that had settled in on Dagmar dissipated. She’d never had a problem like this during her time at Hogwarts that Snape couldn’t help her with.

Once Snape had mixed the cleansing potion in, Dagmar spread it over her forearm. She could already feel a cooling sensation penetrating down toward the burn. Afterward, she wrapped it with a bandage Snape offered.

“Thanks,” Dagmar told him. “Honestly, if I knew it was that easy, I would’ve come by yesterday or the day before.”

“I thought you said it didn’t hurt until you had wandless magic curriculum in your classes today?”

“I stunned Potter without my wand yesterday.”

“So I heard.” Snape curtly nodded. “Before that?”

“I practiced a little in the last bit of summer.”

“Yet you’re only noticing now that it hurts.”

What comfort Dagmar had found from his expertise dissipated. She just shrugged, unable to come up with an answer. While Snape left it alone, Dagmar sensed his dissatisfaction. He didn’t believe her.

He sighed quietly. “I’ll bottle this so that you can apply as needed.”

“Okay.”

Dagmar lingered awkwardly while he headed again to one of the cupboards in his office. He focused on not spilling anything when he returned to his desk with a new vial. “What happened to Draco’s eye?”

“Oh—I don’t know.”

Snape nodded, but Dagmar couldn’t tell if he accepted that or not. She had no idea how much he knew about her summer.

With that thought, uncertainty flowed like hot water through Dagmar’s stomach. She hadn’t even considered how things would change between her and Professor Snape after how her and Draco’s summer ended. Just how close _was_ he to their parents, exactly? To Voldemort?

Dagmar accepted the salve and made a hasty retreat from Snape’s office. If she couldn’t trust him anymore, then who did she have left? Dagmar couldn’t think of anyone at Hogwarts beyond Draco.

It was hard to hide the effect of lonely isolation when Dagmar returned to the library. She wished she could pack up all her things to leave, but it might seem too suspicious. Besides, regardless of whatever happened in Dagmar’s personal life, it didn’t change the amount of homework that she had.

She at least had a story ready for if Hermione noticed she was upset. Sure enough, Hermione took a double-glance at Dagmar when she sat back down across from her.

“Everything okay?” Hermione asked.

“Meh.” Dagmar shrugged. “I’ve been sick since Sunday night. I think I got food poisoning or something, but it just won’t pass. I can’t stop tossing.”

“Maybe it’s time to go see Madam Pomfrey. You’d think something like that would be out of your system by now. What did you eat?”

“Tartare,” Dagmar said the first thing that came to mind.

“Oh.” Hermione pulled a face. “Yeah, that could do it if it wasn’t properly prepared.”

“Ja.”

“But for so long?” Hermione suppressed an amused smile as she dashed something down with her quill. “If you go to Madam Pomfrey, she’ll make you take a pregnancy test.”

The degree to which Dagmar’s stomach flopped almost turned her cover story about tossing into truth.

“Don’t even joke,” she said. “I’m on the rag anyway.”

“I know. She’ll make you just to rule it out.”

Thankfully, Dagmar didn’t actually have to go to the hospital wing. Her nausea passed, and a cool tingle settled in her arm. In a way, though, Dagmar almost wished she was still dealing with it. It had created a distraction. Just like the night Dagmar had said goodbye to Grim, meeting with Voldemort felt like it wasn’t even real. Dagmar’s throat was more likely to lump up as she thought about her parents, and how heartbroken Draco was going to be when it finally sunk in he might no longer have a relationship with his mum. They had nobody but each other right now.

Even after all the work they put in this summer, Dagmar feared that Draco might grow disenchanted with her. There was so much about her he didn’t know that might change his opinion. Dagmar had never thought it prudent of anyone’s concern that she was a Parselmouth. Until Voldemort excavated it out of her, Dagmar intended to die with the fact that she’d killed her own cat. Perhaps context mattered—or maybe it harmed more than it helped. Deep down, Dagmar feared that the thing she felt wrong with herself was responsible for her decisions. Where else did the ability to talk to snakes come from? Did she really put Grim down out of compassion, or was it just an excuse?

“Ugh, I’m really not feeling well,” Dagmar said as she started to gather her things together. “I might go lay down for a while.”

“Probably not a bad idea,” Hermione replied. “You don’t look so hot. See you later?”

“Mhm.”

Somewhat in a daze, Dagmar took the quickest route down to the dungeons. It was already on her mind again how much time she might miss putting into her homework, but she had no idea how to concentrate when she felt like this. Her eyes were heavy again and her throat tight as she came to the empty dorm. Dagmar dropped her bag next to her trunk and pulled her curtain shut.

She was still in a mild state of shock that her parents had chosen Voldemort over her. Dagmar had tried to reason with herself whenever it came to mind that they didn’t know about her meeting him. It had been Mr. Malfoy, after all, that brought her in to see him. And yet. . .

Dagmar had been distracted the last time she saw her parents. She’d forgotten nearly immediately her mum’s departing words: _you made us proud. Farewell._

Why the past tense? Had they expected something to happen to her? And why, in Norwegian, the final form of goodbye? Not goodbye, not see you later, but _farewell._ They didn’t expect to see her again. So what _did_ they expect?

Dagmar lifted her head off her pillow when she heard quiet, muffled footsteps enter the dorm. They stopped short inside the door. Dagmar melted into an easy smile when Heimdall meowed.

“Kom, lille gutten,” she called to him. Dagmar hung her arm over the side of her bed and wiggled her fingers when his nose appeared at the edge of her curtain. “Kom.”

Heimdall pulled the curtain with him on his tail, until it finally fell free. Dagmar hadn’t seen him since before the start-of-term feast when he ran off with the rest of the students’ animals. Heimdall jumped up onto the bed with a new meow, transitioning into a purr as soon as Dagmar ran her nails back over his head.

“You smell like the forest,” she cooed at him in Norwegian. “Sappy and gross. Good hunting?”

He confirmed it with another noise in his throat.

Heimdall curled up against Dagmar. It made her feel better to have some form of company until she could see Draco again after dinner. Heimdall also made it hard for Dagmar to lay there and feel sorry for herself. Since the dorm was just as peaceful as the library in its quiet solitude, Dagmar reopened her books across her bed. Heimdall laid in her lap and entertained himself by occasionally swatting at the end of Dagmar’s quill.

Dagmar left the dorm close to dinner time, intent for the Gryffindor table. Hermione had already settled in with Potter and Weasley, though, so Dagmar just headed over to the Slytherin table instead. Pansy had already sat down, which led Dagmar into a false sense of security that she would be spared. However, after Dagmar’s plate was half-filled, Pansy dropped down beside her.

“Where were _you_ hiding all afternoon?” Pansy asked. “I checked the library.”

“In the dorm,” Dagmar answered. “You can’t have looked _that_ hard.”

Pansy raised her eyebrows, unimpressed, but Dagmar didn’t really care. She had no soft feelings for Pansy beyond pity for how losing Draco had clearly affected her. They had never been even close to friends, and the last couple days pretending otherwise tested Dagmar’s patience. If Pansy was even genuine, which Dagmar doubted completely, her niceties came as too little, too late.

“Doing anything fun this evening, or just the usual?” Pansy’s voice turned cold.

“The usual.”

Dagmar ate quickly so that she could finish before Pansy. She got up without a word to head to the library. All the places in her homework where she’d left off required a reference or some research she didn’t have on hand. She still worked on Snape’s essay, which required at least three sources to qualify for a passing grade.

Dagmar was down one of the aisles flipping through a book when she spotted someone approaching out the corner of her eye. She looked up, automatically smiling at Draco.

“Hey,” she whispered in greeting. “Where are your things?”

“On the table.” Draco leaned against the bookshelf, arms folded. “I recognized your bag.”

Dagmar peered over Draco’s shoulder and then back over her own before deeming it safe to move closer to him. She was well aware of the risks of getting too cozy with Draco in such a public place, but in the moment she was having a hard time caring. Her smile melted when, as she reached up to touch his face, he leaned away.

“Er. . .probably not a good place for it,” he said.

While Dagmar agreed, it didn’t stop her throat from tightening up again. She refocused on the book splayed across her forearm.

“All right?” Draco asked.

Dagmar shook her head. “Rough day.”

“What happened?”

“I just don’t feel good.”

Dagmar looked up when Draco didn’t reply. He considered her with pressed lips. His good eye was narrowed in study.

“Should we find somewhere more private to talk?” he asked.

“Erm. . .” Dagmar looked around again. “We could again later, like last night? We’re supposed to be working on our homework together right now.”

“Is there anything I can do in the meantime to make you feel better? I take it you don’t mean you were sick.”

“Nei,” Dagmar confirmed. “I don’t know, I just feel alone and sad today.”

“I’m sorry, love.”

Dagmar’s cheeks warmed. She managed a smile, for at least if she and Draco couldn’t touch each other right now, she had that.

She closed the book she was looking at. Dagmar did feel a little better with the reminder that the things she dealt with weren’t only hers. It was easy to forget the niggling doubts she’d experienced that afternoon about whether or not she would hold on to Draco through all this. For at least this moment, judging by the gentle way he looked at her, it wasn’t a concern.

Having found what she looked for in the aisle, Dagmar headed back to the table with Draco. The anxiety and edginess she’d dealt with all day hushed inside her similarly to the library around them. Were there not so many other students in their vicinity, Dagmar would’ve chanced either touching Draco’s hand or his foot. She didn’t even feel it safe to look at him when Hermione returned to the library, this time with Potter and Weasley in tow. Neither of them looked pleased to be here.

Dagmar finally made some headway. By nine o’clock, when Draco headed off for his first round of prefect duties for the night, Dagmar had finished a rough draft of Snape’s essay. She started next on the Arithmancy homework assigned to her that afternoon, since it was due Friday.

All third-years and below left the library at nine o’clock curfew. At ten, sixth-years and below headed off, as well as the majority of seventh-years remaining. Dagmar stuck it out despite her heavy eyes. At ten to eleven, she started gathering up her things. Just as she’d hoped (and maybe as Draco had prepared), the dungeons were as quiet as they’d been the night before.

Dagmar slowed as she neared where Draco had waited for her last night, then sped up again with a relieved smile when his head poked out. After hours of having to keep herself at bay, Dagmar sighed in relief as she invited herself into Draco’s arms. His head laid heavy on her shoulder, bringing him close enough for Dagmar to press a lingering kiss to his cheek.

“I don’t know if I’ll get used to going so long at a time without something as simple as this,” Dagmar said.

“We were spoiled over summer.”

Dagmar nodded. “At least we knew not to take it for granted.”

Draco’s arms tightened around Dagmar briefly before he pulled back far enough to steal a kiss. Now that she could, Dagmar touched his still-swollen eye. While she’d accepted when she asked on the train that Mr. Malfoy had hit Draco, details weren’t something Dagmar could really comprehend. With time to process everything, her curiosity emerged. What made Dagmar hesitate was that if Draco was to share what happened to him that night, he would expect the same from her.

“So. . .” Dagmar figured she might as well bite the bullet, since either now or later it would have to come out. “Why did he do it?”

“I was disrespectful, I guess.” Draco shrugged. “I got tired of waiting for you, so I headed downstairs to see what was going on. My father was alone in the great room. I figured you were in the drawing room with You-Know-Who, so I ran in there before he could stop me. You were gone, though. My father didn’t expect it either, so I blew up at him. That’s when he hit me.”

Dagmar nodded, lips pressed.

“Where did You-Know-Who take you?”

“I don’t know.” Dagmar hadn’t gotten a good look at her surroundings, and she certainly didn’t recognize them. “A graveyard. It was storming, so I don’t think it was close to your manor.”

“What for?”

Dagmar shook her head, equally unsure. “I don’t really know what he wanted. We talked before we went there. I don’t know what he was looking for with that either—or, well, maybe. . .”

Draco squeezed Dagmar’s hand in encouragement when she bowed her head in thought.

“I told you about those nightmares I get, ja?” she asked. “That house I’m in? He saw it when he used Legilimency on me. He asked if I knew where it was.”

“As if he was looking for it?”

“Maybe.”

Draco’s brow was furrowed. “Is it a real place, then?”

Dagmar shrugged. “Not one I remember.”

“Hm.”

“We talked about the Heafonfýr Curse,” Dagmar moved on. “He wanted me to show it to him. We left because I said maybe I shouldn’t in your manor. It’s destructive. I thought he would let off, but we left instead. That’s when we went to the graveyard. He wanted to see what I could do when I didn’t have to conjure the lightning like I did in Nice.”

“Your wand was on my desk.”

“He gave me his.”

Draco blinked.

“I, er. . .” Dagmar rubbed her nose. The night was so surreal that Dagmar was having trouble convincing herself it really happened. “Now I think about it, I don’t think he intended me to use it on him. Just show him what I could do. I put him on his arse.”

Draco’s chuckle was short-lived. He quickly turned serious. “You attacked him?”

“I thought it’s what he meant.” Dagmar paused. “Not that I was complaining. He deserved it for all the bollocks I’ve gone through because of him.”

“Oh man.” Draco ran his fingers back through his hair. “I denounced him.”

“You did?” Dagmar’s stomach dropped.

Draco nodded. “After Father hit me. He called me ignorant, so I told him I didn’t know You-Know-Who’s business and that I had no interest in it. Which is true, but. . .if I did that, and you hit him with that curse. . .”

“I guess that’s it, huh?” Nausea tickled Dagmar’s throat again. “If they didn’t know before we had no interest in being Death Eaters, they do now. I wonder then why they didn’t try to stop us getting here.”

“Maybe they did. I doubt that Dumbledore would’ve left the train open for anything, even if Potter wasn’t on it.”

“What do you think they would have even done if they _did_ cut us off?” Dagmar asked. “It would be weird if we just vanished, right? They would have to answer to that. And—well, this isn’t something they could just punish us for like parents normally would. Right?”

Leaned against the wall, Draco rubbed his chin. “I don’t really know what else they could’ve done either.”

“Disown us.” Dagmar toed the floor. “I feel like I have been. Might as well have.”

“I don’t think my mum would.”

“Ja, maybe not.”

“I don’t think I’m too bothered if my father did. Does it bother _you?_ ”

Tears blurred Dagmar’s vision. That heavy feeling was back in her chest, but it seemed to slow in its spread when Draco brought her back against him.

“I just thought when it came down to it. . .” Dagmar sniffled, wiping her eyes, “I thought they’d pick me. I thought I’d be more important.”

“They’re idiots if they don’t see that.” Draco stroked her hair. “Even if they wanted out, you think it’s as easy as walking away?”

“Nei.” Dagmar’s voice quivered. “I’m more scared for them than ever.”

Maybe Draco was right that they had just let Dagmar go. It made sense in a way. Dagmar and her parents didn’t often discuss Voldemort or their business, so it could be that they left it as her own decision.

“When my parents came by my room as I was packing, my mum said something to me while my dad was talking to you,” Dagmar said. “She said I made them proud, and farewell. Am I fooling myself if I choose to believe that’s what she meant? That they’re glad I chose something else?

“But if they knew it was a mistake, then why did they even join him in the first place?” Dagmar’s sadness morphed into irritation. “Why did they arrange me with you when you were probably expected to join too? Why didn’t they ever just _talk_ to me?”

“You said You-Know-Who used Legilimency on you?” Draco asked. “Maybe they can protect themselves from him seeing that, but they didn’t think you could. Who taught you Occlumency?”

“Professor Snape.” Dagmar pressed her lips again for him to come up. “I would’ve thought he told my parents. Wouldn’t they know each other? You said he’s a Death Eater.”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you think we can trust him anymore?” Dagmar asked. “He’s always been the first one I turn to here, but if he’s reporting back to our parents or Voldemort—”

Draco flinched.

“Sorry,” Dagmar said. She hadn’t feared Voldemort enough since facing him to censor his name, but she hadn’t thought it would emerge so naturally on her tongue. “If Professor Snape is reporting what we do to them, what do we do?”

Draco ran his bottom lip between his teeth. “I’m not sure.”

“And I don’t suppose it’s like we could just ask where his loyalties lie.”

“No,” Draco agreed. “Although. . .I don’t know, if your parents didn’t know you could do Occlumency, does that mean Snape never told them?”

“What reason wouldn’t he have had to?” Dagmar replied. “I was only thirteen when I took my lessons with him. As Head of House, isn’t it his duty to write parents about problems their kids are having? He never thought to mention, ‘hey, your daughter is having such bad nightmares that I’m teaching her something now she wouldn’t normally learn until NEWT level’?”

“You have a point.” Draco shrugged. “So I don’t know then. We should probably operate going forward on the assumption that if anyone could know anything, they know it. I don’t think right now we’ll be able to trust anybody but each other.”

“Me neither.”

Even if that was still the case, that information didn’t bother Dagmar now as much as it had earlier in the day. It comforted her that there might yet be something to her relationship with her parents, but she didn’t know if she should dare get her hopes too high. Maybe just to be safe with them too, she should run under the assumption that her initial fears about never seeing her parents again were correct.

Draco slipped a hand into Dagmar’s, having noticed the newest slump to her shoulders.

“It just sucks,” she said before he could even ask. “I hate this.”

“Me too.”

Dagmar wasn’t in much a mood to do anything but stay close to Draco for as long as they could possibly get away with it. They’d talked long already.

“What’s your weekend like?” Dagmar asked.

Draco shrugged. “I don’t have anything planned. I’ll probably just spend it doing homework.”

“Would it work for us to spend the night together Saturday in the Room of Requirement?”

“I’d like to.” Draco tucked a loose piece of hair behind Dagmar’s ear. “How do we explain our absence?”

“We could sneak out after everyone’s asleep?”

“Might be hard on a Saturday. The guys tend to stay up.”

Dagmar hummed. “Maybe a weekday would work better. Or even Sunday night. Are your dorm-mates more predictable when there are classes the next morning?”

“A bit, yeah. I can expect them to be asleep by midnight.”

“Same.”

“Sneak out after that?” Draco suggested. “Then you can just say you were up early if anyone notices you missing in the morning.”

“We can give it a shot.” Dagmar paused to kiss him. “I hate sleeping alone.”

“Me too, although honestly, doesn’t take much to beat a room full of snores and farts.”


	8. Perceptive Potter

The first week of Harry’s seventh year was about as brutal as he expected it to be. He and Ron fell into the same trap they did the previous September, where they thought that just because they had half-empty class schedules, they would have lots of free time. That definitely did not turn out to be the case.

None of their professors had given them a break. Professor Parasca made up for lack of homework on Tuesday by doubling down Friday. Harry had hardly made any headway at all into Snape’s essay. He had yet to conjure a phantom light for McGonagall, but at least he hadn’t been the only one. Only Hermione and Ramstad had managed. Harry was at least half-prepared for Charms on Monday. He could levitate his feather without his wand or the incantation, but he still hadn’t started the essay.

Harry and Ron were in the library when Hermione found them mid-Friday afternoon. She carried her Arithmancy textbook under an arm.

“Imagine this,” she commented on the strewn nature of their parchment. “I didn’t expect to see you two here.”

“Wouldn’t mind having _some_ kind of break this weekend,” Ron said. “If it wasn’t for this essay from Snape. . .”

“Get used to them.” Hermione dropped down beside Harry. “I doubt he’s going to let up until the day we sit the NEWT.”

“If even then,” Harry glumly said.

Ron sighed. “ _Why_ did I keep on with this?”

“I probably wouldn’t have if I knew Snape would be teaching it again.”

“That’s not true and you know it,” Hermione replied to Harry. “You need it if you want to be an Auror.”

Were it not for that, dropping the subject would be beyond tempting for Harry. He looked at his watch. “Do you think Dumbledore would mind if we got there a little early?”

“Probably not,” Ron said right away, just as eager to pack up their homework. “I say we go.”

Hermione sighed, but she didn’t put up a fight. As Harry tucked his parchment into a textbook, he registered out the corner of his eye that Ramstad had just arrived at the library as well. She paid them no mind spare returning Hermione’s wave as she went about settling in at a nearby table.

Since Dumbledore’s office was so far removed from the rest of the school, heading there earlier than expected didn’t amount to much extra time. They let themselves in past the statues (‘ice mice’) and headed up the stairs behind. Harry grew a little uncertain when he heard voices behind the door at the top. He didn’t think they were the portraits, since they didn’t stop abruptly enough when Harry knocked.

It was Kingsley that opened the door to let them in. He smiled. “Good afternoon.”

Harry passed him by. “I didn’t expect you to be here.”

“On behalf of the rest of the Order,” Kingsley said. He closed the door once Hermione had filed in.

McGonagall showed up a short while later. Snape was behind her.

“Anything going on?” Kingsley asked.

Harry’s eyebrows rose when everyone looked at him. “Er. . .lots, I guess. Who should we start with? Oh, before that, I think we need to add someone else to our watch list: Professor Parasca’s son.”

To Harry’s surprise, Dumbledore’s eyes crinkled. Kingsley furrowed his brow. “What about him?”

“He looks exactly like Tom Riddle at sixteen,” Harry said. Although he was hesitant to voice that, it satisfied him that even McGonagall and Snape looked intrigued by this information. “He got sorted into Slytherin, same as Voldemort. And he’s hanging out with some of the other people we’re watching, Theodore Nott and Malfoy.”

“What could it even mean that he looks like him?” McGonagall asked. “I asked Ekaterina in passing if they’d ever been to Britain before, and she said she hasn’t since her Auror days.”

“She’s had a run-in with Voldemort before,” Dumbledore said, folding his hands on the table. “She isn’t aware of it, though.”

“She did?” Harry asked.

“When Voldemort was hiding in Albania.” Dumbledore nodded. “She nearly caught him, having mistaken him for a strigoi. I read about it in one of the books she’s written about her time as an Auror. I confess I had no idea her son shared such a likeness with Tom in his youth.”

“You saw it though, right?” Harry asked. “Hagrid did. So did Ginny.”

“I did.” Dumbledore nodded. “I also asked the Sorting Hat about its decision to sort Luca into Slytherin. Interestingly enough, the hat wanted to place Luca in Hufflepuff. His value in friendship is ironically why he wished to go to Slytherin. The friends he made on the train all belonged there.”

“So he chose it?” Harry asked as Ron exhaled forcefully through his nose beside him, amused.

“He did. And he is not aware of any connection to Voldemort.”

“I had a thought, actually,” Hermione spoke. “It’s. . .I don’t know, it might not even be worth bringing up, but the concept of likeness made me think of the lesson on doppelgängers in History of Magic last year.”

“He couldn’t be one,” McGonagall said. “They were only female, if I’m not mistaken.”

“Yes, that’s what makes me hesitate to bring it up.” Hermione shifted in her seat anyway, eager. “And it’s not a type of magic men can even learn, so Voldemort wouldn’t be able to. I could see him being interested in it, though, because it’s a means to immortality.”

Ron nudged her to go on, since everyone else was still listening.

“You need a womb,” Hermione explained. “Doppelgängers reproduce asexually, essentially a genetic copy of themselves. The way their magic works is that when the mother has a child, her soul is split and half goes to the daughter. When the mother dies, her soul couples up again. She carries on as herself in the new body.”

Ron wrinkled his nose. “What about the younger one, then? They die, or what?”

“Disappear, I guess?” Hermione shrugged. “It’s why we learned about them in History of Magic. They were hunted and killed off in droves. The argument for that was how human can something be if it sacrifices its own child once a generation, just so it can live forever?”

“ _Are_ they human?” Harry asked.

“Sort of. Think kind of like Veela. They just have to be female.”

“Well, that disqualifies Voldemort,” Harry said. “I could see him being interested in it, though. Like with the philosopher’s stone.”

“Should we still keep an eye on Luca, then?” Ron asked.

“Wouldn’t hurt,” Kingsley said. “He does have a connection to Voldemort through his mother, after all—albeit distant.

“Anything to say about Crabbe and Goyle?” He changed the subject.

“They’re not hanging around with Malfoy anymore.” That was all Harry had noticed. “If their fathers are on the run from Voldemort, could that mean their alliances are split?”

“Potentially. Have you seen any evidence of Malfoy acting as a Death Eater?”

“No.” Harry wished he had. “He’s been quiet, which is suspicious in its own right. No Dark Mark. He’s rolled up his sleeves in class, so I got a look. He hasn’t even been throwing his weight around. Hagrid said he got a whole bunch of points in Care of Magical Creatures for answering all the questions he asked about firedrakes. Spends a lot of time with Ramstad in the library.”

“That’s to do with study hall,” Hermione said. “Malfoy was banned back in first year for making a tutor cry, and he’s trying to get it lifted. Dagmar struck a deal with him. If he can behave, he can come back.”

Ron scoffed, arms crossed. “Sounds convenient.”

“They _are_ doing their homework, though,” Hermione replied. “I don’t sit with them, obviously, but I’ve been close enough to see.”

“You think they’d talk about anything else if you’re hovering over their shoulders?” Ron asked.

“Malfoy also came back to school with a black eye,” Harry said. “Like a bad one. It got around he fell off his new Firebolt, but I doubt that.”

“I thought maybe either Crabbe or Goyle dealt him one,” Ron said.

“I sent an owl to his mother asking about it,” Snape spoke up. “I’ve yet to receive a response. I asked Ms. Ramstad about it when she came by my office Wednesday, but she said she didn’t know how it happened.”

“You don’t believe her?” Dumbledore asked.

“No,” Snape said. “She’s a proficient Occlumens, though, so I couldn’t see anything to the contrary when she would actually make eye contact with me.”

“She is?” Harry’s stomach flipped weirdly. “How do you know?”

“Taught her myself.” Snape’s lip curled, and Harry could see what he wanted to say about the efficiency of his teaching, and how it had fallen short with Harry through all fault of his own. “It took her your entire third year to learn it with weekly lessons, but she did.”

“Why did she need it?”

“Nightmares,” Snape answered. “She kept seeing a house that she had no memory of. The dementors made them unbearable while they were here. Learning Occlumency didn’t help completely, but she said it took the edge off.”

“So she wasn’t seeing things through someone else,” Hermione mused. “Which makes sense. Harry was only seeing things through Voldemort because of the connection they share. That’s a pretty unique situation.”

“Was there a reason other than asking about homework that Ms. Ramstad came by your office, Severus?” Dumbledore leaned forward to ask.

Snape tersely nodded. “She asked for help with an injury she said she sustained performing the Heafonfýr Curse while in France. She burned the magic conduits in her left arm.”

McGonagall cringed beside him. “I noticed a bandage under her jumper in class. Your handiwork, I take it?”

“She was dodgy about it,” Snape continued with another nod. “I sent an owl to her parents about it as well. I expect a reply next week.”

“How did she burn herself?” Hermione asked.

“She conjured lightning without her wand,” Snape said. “That’s what that curse is. Ideally, it would be used with a wand and when lightning is already present, otherwise these types of injuries occur.”

“She’s good at wandless magic, at least when she’s duelling,” Harry said. “She stunned me like that.”

“She told us afterward she picked it up during the summer,” Ron added. “Could she have learned it at Malfoy Manor?”

“Possibly,” Snape said. “For what it’s worth, Lucius prefers to duel with his wand.”

“Does Voldemort?”

“Yes.” Snape raised a single brow. “You think the Dark Lord has the time or care to take on a student?”

“Maybe. It’s worth discussing, don’t you think?” Harry posed. “Who else would she have picked it up from?”

“There are other Death Eaters, although I’m unsure which ones she may be acquainted with, if any,” Snape said. “The Dark Lord tends to operate on a circle system. He keeps people close for certain things and, unless they intersect, the others don’t know much about what anyone else is doing. He and I discuss matters that pertain to Hogwarts.”

“So that’s why we can’t confirm her parents are Death Eaters,” Ron said.

Snape nodded. “I’ve never met them in that capacity. I’ve avoided asking Lucius because Bellatrix is already suspicious enough of me. She won’t take to me going outside my scope of servitude to the Dark Lord.”

“So maybe he didn’t teach her, but someone else did. Who else is Mr. Malfoy close to?”

“I don’t fully know.”

“To what end would that be?” McGonagall asked. “Voldemort can’t delegate what was laid out by the prophecy. He won’t. At this point, he wants to fulfill it himself.”

“Yeah.” Harry’s stomach fell at the reminder. Although he’d accepted what he had to do, sometimes it came over him fresh again. “I don’t know. Maybe he’s just recruiting. It could be that Malfoy and Ramstad just haven’t been marked yet. Why would you come to Hogwarts with a Dark Mark?”

“I still don’t know why Dagmar would ever join Voldemort,” Hermione said. “Like I’ve been saying, she doesn’t believe in pureblood supremacy.”

“She’s been hanging around with Slytherins now, though. Malfoy and Parkinson.”

“She didn’t choose to hang out with Pansy,” Hermione replied. “Dagmar said Pansy had a fight with Millicent and Daphne, so for now she’s her new best friend by the process of elimination.”

“There are a lot of possibilities,” Snape interrupted them, “none of which are yet clear. And nobody seems to be in mortal danger, so there’s no point exploring every single potential until we can weigh in new factors.”

Nobody disagreed, Harry hesitantly so. The waiting was awful with so much going on around him, but he could see how veering off-course would muddy the waters.

“I think that only leaves Theodore Nott to catch up on,” Kingsley said.

“Not much there.” Ron shook his head. “He’s been too busy hanging off Daphne Greengrass to do anything.”

With that, the meeting pretty much wrapped up. Kingsley didn’t have much to say from the London side of things other than he’d put in an inquiry at the Department of Magical Transportation to access the floo records from Ramstad Manor. He did so under the guise of attempting to find the team from Magical Law Enforcement that had disappeared. He slipped Malfoy Manor in on the inquiry as well, but doubted it would be granted due to lack of relevance. That was too bad, Harry thought. If Malfoy Manor was where everyone had been during that time, that’s where anything interesting might be found in official records.

“Do you think it would really even be worth looking into?” Hermione asked as they left the office. “The floo networks, I mean? Why go by floo when you can apparate? Dagmar was the only one too young to, but she could go side-along. It’s not like we can see names either, in private connections.”

“Yeah.” That frustrated Harry further. “Hey, you think Neville would mind doing some spying for us?”

“Where?” Ron asked.

“Study hall,” Harry said. “If Ramstad and Malfoy are both going to be in there, he might fall well enough into the background to pick up something one of us couldn’t.”

Hermione shrugged. “Doesn’t hurt to ask, I suppose.”

“Wonder what Malfoy wants back into study hall for,” Ron mused. “Never struck me as the type to want to work after Hogwarts. Certainly doesn’t need to, the trust-fund prat.”

Hermione stayed quiet, her brow furrowed slightly in thought as they passed by the gargoyles hiding Dumbledore’s office. Along an empty corridor, she looked around to ensure their solitude before speaking again.

“There’s another possibility,” she said. “Maybe Malfoy wanted out.”

“Out of what?” Ron asked. “His fast-track to being a Death Eater? You can’t be serious. Not knowing him like we do.”

“It could make sense,” Hermione kept on. “Think this through: say Dagmar has no affiliation with Voldemort—”

Ron screwed up his face. “Maybe don’t say the name outside Dumbledore’s office.”

“Er, okay,” Hermione agreed before going back to what she’d been saying. “If Dagmar has no affiliation with You-Know-Who, and Malfoy and her are spending time together, maybe he saw her as a chance to get out of that without going it alone. For how awful Malfoy is, how much of a little weasel—believe me, nobody is contesting that—I don’t know that I see him as somebody capable of serving anyone beyond himself.”

“You think he’s using Ramstad?” Harry could at least agree that sounded like a very Malfoy thing to do.

“Maybe. She might have agreed to help him too,” Hermione said. “She’s just like that. She spent three weeks at Malfoy Manor over the summer. That could have been the outcome.”

Ron made a thoughtful sound. “He _is_ a bit of a wimp. Could be when it came time to put his money where his mouth is, he was too scared.”

Harry could see that too. When Malfoy first came to Hogwarts, the only viewpoint he’d ever been exposed to was that purebloods were better than everyone else, and wasn’t it a pity that Voldemort hadn’t succeeded. Malfoy had concreted himself quickly as an enemy to anyone that believed otherwise and probably even some that didn’t, just because of how foul a person he was. He didn’t really have friends, since he treated Crabbe and Goyle more like bodyguards. If it scared Malfoy that he might actually have to fight for his beliefs after Voldemort returned, by that point he had no out. To change then would leave him alone, for Harry could say without a doubt that he’d be the last person to ever take him in as a stray.

This way of thinking unsettled Harry, for he never saw even the glimpse of potential for his alliances to line up with Malfoy. Harry had to remember that just because Malfoy wasn’t serving Voldemort, it didn’t automatically make him a member of the Order. It only turned him into a wild card.

“You should’ve brought that up in the meeting,” Harry said.

“I would have if I thought of it in there.” Hermione shrugged. “Next Friday, I guess.”

“Yeah.”

Harry’s head was starting to swim with all the potential paths they’d discussed for things to go. Snape had been right about muddying the waters, for Harry didn’t really know in the moment what to focus on. He certainly couldn’t return to his homework, however much he tried, when he, Ron, and Hermione cracked their books back open in the Gryffindor common room.

An idea struck him. “Hermione, you said Ramstad and Malfoy hit the library together after dinner, right?”

“They have every other night this week,” Hermione said without looking up from what she was reading. “Why?”

Harry lowered his voice. “They wouldn’t say anything to each other when any of us are around, but they wouldn’t know about my invisibility cloak, would they?”

Ron broke into a grin. “Brilliant, you could listen in on them.”

Hermione looked hesitant toward it. “Well, under normal circumstances I’d say that’s a really gross breach of privacy, but we need to get this sorted. The sooner the better, so we can either narrow in or clear them.”

Having something productive to look forward to helped Harry focus on his essay for Snape. The time seemed to crawl to a near-halt, which maybe helped Harry get more done than he expected. Shortly after his stomach started rumbling for dinner, Harry finished up his Potions essay. With that out of the way, the rest of it didn’t seem so much like a mountain.

Harry grabbed his invisibility cloak out of his trunk before he, Ron, and Hermione headed down to the Great Hall for dinner. The noise from inside carried up the stairs in the Entrance Hall. A jovial mood had overtaken the school for the first weekend of term to have come. Younger students were certainly more excited for it than the older ones who, like Harry, were probably equally dreading spending most if not all of it in the library. That didn’t seem to bother Hermione at all. She smiled placidly as she filled her plate at the Gryffindor table.

Between bites, Harry made sweeping glances along the Slytherin table. While he could see Malfoy, it didn’t seem that Ramstad had made it to dinner.

A familiar laugh caught Harry’s ear further down the Gryffindor table, followed by mention of Malfoy’s name. He looked in time to see Ramstad stand from where she sat with Ginny and her friends, her face screwed up as Ginny’s friend Harper made exaggerated kissy noises.

“Shut up,” Ramstad told her. “It’s just homework.”

“Yeah, ‘homework’.”

They all laughed again while Ramstad shook her head, rolled her eyes, and left them behind. Harry returned his gaze to his plate before she had a chance to see him looking at her, and listened for her footsteps to pass by behind. He looked up again when her back was to him, her plait swinging like a pendulum.

Harry put his fork down. “I’m going to head to the library.”

“Already?” Hermione asked.

“Might as well.”

Ron slid Harry’s dessert toward himself. “All right, have fun, mate.”

Harry grabbed the eclair off his plate and chewed it distractedly on his way out of the Great Hall. He lingered outside the boy’s toilet, finishing his eclair before dipping in to throw on his cloak. He listened outside the door for anyone passing before leaving. Although nobody he walked by in the corridors seemed to notice him, Harry always became more aware of his footsteps while invisible.

The library was empty. Harry wandered the aisles for a while trying to find Ramstad, but came up with nothing. Just as he was trying to puzzle out where else she might have gone, she arrived. Of course—she had her bag with her again. After missing her in both the Great Hall and library, Harry forced himself to slow down. If he was going to be an efficient spy, he needed to start thinking like one. He knew enough about Ramstad’s life and schedule thanks to Hermione that he should be able to reason she might not always be present at the Slytherin table, or that she wouldn’t come to the library without her school things.

Ramstad headed for a table Harry had noticed her sitting at before. If no other ones were currently taken in the library, then he could easily deduce she preferred this one. It had the least amount of tables nearby, was slightly nestled in the sense that she put her back to a wall, and some of the more advanced book sections were adjacent. Ramstad likely chose this spot to minimize the amount of foot traffic around her, since younger students would have no business going by. Whether that was for the lack of distraction or so that she and Malfoy could have some privacy, Harry would soon find out.

His footsteps became even more obvious to himself, as well as how his clothes rustled in the silence that fell again once Ramstad was settled. Harry tried only to move whenever the turning of a page or crinkle of parchment would cover him. His breath froze in his chest when Ramstad looked up right at him. Her gaze dropped back to the essay she worked on nearly immediately, nothing having actually caught her eye.

Harry moved all the more cautiously with that, just in case hearing him was what had raised Ramstad’s head. She didn’t seem to notice anything else amiss now. She concentrated on homework as astutely as Hermione, which gave Harry a little extra advantage.

Ramstad looked up each time a new pair of footsteps sounded by the library entrance. Clearly she expected Malfoy, but Harry tried to narrow down her degree of anticipation. She wasn’t overly eager, just looking up whenever she heard someone. Her focus was primarily on the essay she worked on—Professor Sprout’s, judging by the books Ramstad was using for reference.

One time when Ramstad looked up, her gaze remained aloft. Harry looked at the library entrance and, sure enough, Malfoy had arrived. He seemed to be in a good mood despite spending his Friday evening doing homework. Harry hadn’t known Malfoy to even be capable of that, not that Harry really ever looked close enough to see it. It was weird to see Malfoy smile when usually a smug little smirk would be fixed on his face.

“All right?” he greeted Ramstad as he set his bag on one of the chairs.

“Oh, you know.” Ramstad gestured at her work.

Malfoy chuckled. “What’re _you_ working on, then?”

“Herbology.”

“I was leaning toward that too.”

Malfoy pulled out his own copy of _Applications of Herbology_ and set to work. After a few minutes of scratching quills, and Malfoy and Ramstad occasionally flipping through their textbooks, Harry grew quickly annoyed. He hadn’t looked forward to sneaking in here all afternoon just for this.

Standing grew tiresome after a while, which Harry hadn’t really anticipated or planned for. A nearby table had a couple of chairs still pulled out from earlier occupants. As carefully as Harry could, he lowered himself into one. He stiffened, stomach cold, when the chair creaked. Malfoy glanced in his direction, but didn’t seem to give it anymore thought beyond that.

Harry ended up leaning on the table, his fist digging into his cheek. The only thing he’d really noticed beyond Malfoy and Ramstad’s focus on their homework was that they glanced at each other once in a while. After nearly an hour of sitting there, Harry’s eyes came back into focus.

Malfoy had stopped writing. He stared at his parchment with pursed lips before his gaze rose again at-length to Ramstad. Malfoy broke his stare to ruffle around in his parchment pile. There was a sheet that was quite shorter than the standard size. He ripped a piece off as quietly as he could, but not enough to avoid distracting Ramstad.

She looked up, bringing out Malfoy’s usual smirk. Rather than go back to her work, Ramstad watched Malfoy dip his quill and write something down on it. Malfoy folded it before pushing it halfway across the table. Ramstad looked at it, then back up at Malfoy. His smirk grew into a grin, one heel bouncing off the floor. Harry heard Ramstad sigh before reaching out for the note. Her eyes darted back and forth before she laughed to herself.

After writing down a response, Ramstad slid the parchment back. She was grinning too as Malfoy read it over, then laughed again when he snorted.

They went back and forth, their homework trending toward forgotten. Harry just rolled his eyes. He hadn’t come to watch them work, and he hadn’t intended to watch them bum around either. They didn’t have anything more pressing to tend to when the library was mostly vacant?

Eventually the note-passing tapered off with Malfoy tucking the piece of parchment into a random page in his textbook. Harry made mental note of that, for he could maybe try to nick it later. The two of them went back to their homework, while Harry’s spine bent increasingly from boredom.

He ended up with his head rested on folded arms, his eyes nearly closed. Harry stirred in short-lived excitement for _something_ when Malfoy stood up and excused himself. Harry checked the time, though, and was immediately irritated again. It was nearly nine. Ron and Hermione ditched him the same way while they went off to do their prefect and Head Girl duties. Sure enough, Malfoy was back in about a quarter-hour.

How did anyone even have the patience to do homework for this long? Hermione, sure, and perhaps Ramstad being the same way was why their friendship had lasted so long across house lines. Malfoy, though? Harry had never really seen him put any sort of effort into anything before. He’d bought his way onto the Slytherin Quidditch team. He relied on Snape’s favouritism to get him past OWL-level Potions. He used Crabbe and Goyle as bodyguards to protect him against anyone he might piss off enough to strike back.

Malfoy stood up again shortly before ten. Harry lifted his head when he started putting his things away.

“I think that’s all I can do tonight,” Malfoy told Ramstad. He barely bothered to whisper since they were the last two spare Harry left in the library. “See you later?”

“Mhm.”

Harry sunk back into the position he’d been sitting in for nearly four hours now. Was there even a point hanging around here, if Ramstad was on her lonesome? Even with the library to herself, she didn’t do anything but continue on. While Harry had watched, she finished her Herbology, Arithmancy, History of Magic, and Charms homework. Harry thought of all his upstairs. Not that he would’ve probably worked on it tonight anyway, but anything would’ve been more productive than this.

Ramstad packed up at quarter-to-eleven. Harry followed her at a distance until she turned down into the dungeons. With that, he gave up. He headed upstairs instead. Even though he could’ve ditched his invisibility cloak for now, he didn’t particularly feel like interacting with any of the prefects he passed by.

Harry pulled it off himself outside the portrait of the Fat Lady. She made an exclamation of surprise at his sudden appearance, which alerted Ron and Hermione further down the corridor that he’d arrived. Harry was still stuffing his cloak into his regular one when they all met up.

“Well, that was a waste of time,” Harry told them. “I can’t believe I just watched somebody do homework for five hours.”

Ron wrinkled his nose and Hermione looked equally disappointed.

“They didn’t do anything at all?” she asked. “Talk about anything?”

Harry shook his head. “Passed notes for a few minutes, but that was it. Other than that, they were literally just working.”

“Shame.” Hermione paused. “It could still mean something, though. Maybe if they’re not talking about anything. . .there’s just nothing to discuss.”

“Guess we’d have to keep an eye on them longer, to make sure.” Harry felt exhausted at the very thought. “I don’t know if I could do that again, to be honest.”

Hermione started them all off toward the Fat Lady. “Nobody ever said that being a spy would be exciting.”


	9. Silver Spoon

With a handful of folders set in the crook of her arm, Dagmar emerged from the dungeons and headed toward the library. The meeting she was about to sit took place in a room off from it, where study hall would start the next day.

“Hey Ernie,” she greeted the only other arrival. He sat at the table that Dagmar would claim as her own once everything was in swing. “How’re you?”

“Great.” He gestured at the pile of folders in front of him. “There was a good response from Hufflepuff. You managed to get some?”

“I’m as shocked as you are,” Dagmar said with a laugh. “Maybe it makes a difference when the head is in Slytherin house.”

“Any good names?”

“Sixth-years mostly, which is just fine. They can at least help with OWL-level stuff if their grades are good enough.” Dagmar set down the folders Professor Snape had just handed off to her and started unbuttoning her jacket to remove. “No seventh-years, so no NEWT help from my house, I’m afraid.”

“Still, what you brought is better than usual.”

With the weekend having arrived at Hogwarts, Dagmar had been able to ditch her school uniform. She could see the drawback in that now. Wearing regular clothes and taking the time to actually do something to enhance her appearance tipped Dagmar off that the cycle she fell into with Ernie over the years may have begun anew. As far as Ernie was aware, Dagmar had never dated at Hogwarts and, spare a couple attempts at it, neither had Ernie. He didn’t go out of his way to see Dagmar (yet), but she’d certainly noticed an extra sparkle in his eye whenever they spoke.

She leaned back in her chair with her legs crossed, the folder for Sophie Roper open across her thigh. Out the corner of her eye, Dagmar could see Ernie fidget as he sought something with which to break the silence between them again. Someone entered the room before he could.

“Hey Padma.” Dagmar smiled. “Er, need some help?”

Padma’s stack of folders had kinked near the middle, threatening to accordion onto the floor. Dagmar and Ernie took some off the top from her, and had to half their piles at the table so that they didn’t slide off each other.

“Ravenclaw always delivers,” Padma joked.

With her there, conversation became easier. Dagmar could certainly relate to Ernie and Padma’s gripes about their amount of homework.

“I actually caught up yesterday,” Dagmar said while rubbing her eyes. They were still slightly strained from staring at book pages and parchment for hours on end. “I don’t know what I’ll even do with myself until it starts again tomorrow.”

“Lucky,” Ernie said. “I still can’t reliably conjure a phantom light for Transfiguration. It’s starting to worry me.”

“Stop trying as soon as you get frustrated,” Padma suggested. “I found it was harder to do when I was. As soon as I let myself have a break, it clicked.”

“I guess I do tend to just keep hammering on. . .” Ernie looked up. “Neville!”

Neville carried about as many folders as Ernie had brought, which was still a respectable amount. He took the seat available beside Padma, his round eyes going even bigger in size as he took in the piles in front of her.

“Shall we get started?” Dagmar pulled a pile of parchment out from underneath her folders. Each sheet had a subject taught at Hogwarts written across the top, and was divided into four sections. “We might as well start with Slytherin since it has the least applicants.”

They went through each one individually, looking for the classes that the students had received an E or higher in previously. Each Slytherin qualified for at least one subject to specialize in, but the disciplinary section of their folders required more pause. Although Dagmar tried to remain professional as they weighed intelligence against temperament, the way that Professor Snape noted each instance of discipline tickled her.

“‘Mr. O’Kelly seems to be of the impression that clocks at Hogwarts run fifteen minutes fast’,” Dagmar read off. “Hm, I’m not sure. Punctuality is a must, if students are relying on him.”

“When did Snape note that?” Ernie asked.

“Er. . .this was around last Christmas, but it’s the last instance of it. There are several prior to that, about three or four a year.”

“Could be he smartened up?” Neville suggested with a shrug. “You could give him a chance. If he’s late once, that’s it.“

They wrapped up the Slytherins and carried on next into Gryffindor. The process took longer than Dagmar expected, for mid-morning had already arrived when they wrapped up Hufflepuff and tapped into the first Ravenclaw. To Dagmar’s surprise, Ravenclaw went the quickest. Although there were more students, their grades were clear-cut and the disciplinary sections of their folders were slim pickings. At the end of it, Dagmar was left with an adequate number of aides for each subject.

“I think I’m ready to start trimming the fat,” Dagmar said. “We ought to quickly go down the ban list and its appeals. Then I can let you get on with your days.”

Draco wasn’t the only one on there. There were other students that had abused the program in some way, using it as a place where they could study like in the library but talk and visit as if it was their common room. A couple students had used it as a means to get close to someone they fancied that happened to be an aide. Most had appealed to their house heads, handing off notes of apology and promises not to repeat their past behaviours. Dagmar put checks next to their names as somebody to write a short note to, informing them of her decision to lift the ban.

“Then that brings us to. . .” Dagmar’s heart picked up slightly. “Draco Malfoy.”

“Malfoy?” Ernie’s nose wrinkled. “ _He_ appealed?”

“Mhm.” Dagmar held up the note she’d instructed Draco to write and then take to Snape. “In the interest of full disclosure as well, he contacted me prior to the start of term to ask for special consideration. I told him if he could sit still and quiet with me for a week in the library, I would vouch for him here. He managed. I don’t think I heard anything about him being a git around the castle, which was another requirement I had. I figured if I set them steep, he would make this decision easy. Turns out, not so much.”

“I’ll spare you having to go back on your word, then.” Padma tucked some of her black hair behind her ear. “I don’t think it’s a good idea. Malfoy isn’t like the other ones on this list. We aren’t talking about somebody that occasionally just bums around. This is somebody that has a visceral effect on most students. I think his mere presence would be disruptive.”

“Yeah, it’s supposed to be a place where students should feel free to ask for help,” Ernie said. “I was there the day Malfoy made that aide cry. She was a seventh-year Ravenclaw. You’d think she would’ve seen it all by then, but I think Malfoy _actually_ made her believe she was too stupid to help him. As Head Boy—” he puffed out his chest to ensure sunshine glinted over his badge, “—I’ve had my share of run-ins with badly-behaved students. Malfoy is a cut above the rest. He’s not just ignorant or immature. He’s downright sadistic in how he treats others.”

Padma nodded. “It’s too little, too late. I realize you have the final say, Dagmar, but you should really consider this. You said he contacted you looking for special consideration? Not that I want to group you in with how Snape has treated him over the years, but why does he think he’s entitled to that just because you happen to be a Slytherin?”

While Padma and Ernie spoke, heavy defensiveness on Draco’s behalf rose within Dagmar. It settled uncomfortably in her chest. She could feel it in her face as well, hot behind her cheeks.

“I guess he’s not,” Dagmar forced herself to acquiesce in a steady voice. “That was why I set the bar high for him. I didn’t want it to be based just on how he can behave with me. I’m well aware I’m one of very few people in this school he’s never bullied. He had a good week, though. I certainly never heard or saw anything to the contrary.”

“One week doesn’t make up for six years,” Ernie said.

“Hold on.” Since Neville was usually so quiet, the three of them all looked at him when he spoke up. “Why does he want back in?”

“He told me he needs to bring up his Charms and Herbology grades,” Dagmar replied. “Just one letter for each is all. I figured if it was a problem for the aides, he could just sit with me. I received Os in both, so I’m more than qualified to take him on.”

“Why does he even care?” Ernie asked. “He’s never seemed particularly goal-oriented to me.”

“I don’t think that’s for us to judge,” Neville said. “If he has something in mind he wants to do after Hogwarts, it’s not up to us to hold him back from it.”

“True, but there are other avenues,” Padma replied. “If he wants to pull up his grades, maybe instead of seeking out special treatment like usual, he should do like the rest of us and discipline himself. How many hours would you say you spent with him in the library this week, Dagmar?”

“Probably around twenty-five.”

“So he can dedicate that much time on his own terms. He doesn’t even need study hall.”

“He might still need help,” Dagmar pointed out.

“You already said you were going to be the only one doing that, didn’t you?” Padma asked. “Obviously I can’t tell you what to do with your free time, but I don’t think study hall is the way to go with him. I can see a lot of aides dropping out for fear they might get stuck with him anyway. Students might not show up. Is that how you want study hall to go under your leadership? And for what?”

Dagmar hated that Padma had a point. Maybe Dagmar’s experience with Draco had been vastly different lately, but it didn’t change how the rest of the student body viewed him.

Their business as a group was concluded with that. Dagmar told Neville, Ernie, and Padma that she would find them later with the aide schedules to post in their common rooms. Her mood had sunk, although Dagmar wasn’t entirely shocked by the outcome of discussing Draco’s ban. She’d always known it was a long shot. It didn’t stop her from feeling hurt on his behalf, though.

She went about cutting the names that study hall likely wouldn’t need. Dagmar then pulled out more parchment to write notes to the students appealing their bans. All but Draco’s had been lifted, so Dagmar drafted a standard-issue copy. She would just tell Draco next time she saw him.

It turned out to be sooner than expected. Dagmar looked up from what she was doing when a light knock sounded at the doors opening into the library. She smiled, some of the straightness returning to her spine.

“Busy?” Draco asked.

“Not really. Come on in.”

Draco had dressed warm for the day, a Slytherin scarf wrapped around the top of his black jacket. His hair was neatly done, which tempted Dagmar to put her fingers through it and muss it up. To take the edge off the swell of affection that rose inside her, Dagmar ran her hand down his forearm.

“Well?” Draco rested his bum on the table’s edge beside Dagmar. “What’s the verdict?”

Dagmar’s smile flickered. Before she could even say anything, Draco shrugged.

“It’s okay,” he said. “Thanks for trying.”

“Neville tried too, but his voice just isn’t loud enough between Padma and Ernie.”

“Longbottom?” The corners of Draco’s mouth pulled downward while his eyebrows went up. “Shocking.”

“Ja, it surprised me too. He had a good point that if you wanted in for your education’s sake, we didn’t have the right to deny you. But Padma and Ernie weighed that against everyone else’s right to the same thing.”

“Oh yeah.”

“Padma said something that got me thinking,” Dagmar said as she returned to the note she currently worked on. “If I was going to be the only one helping you anyway, then maybe I ought to use my free time for it.”

“Like last week?” Draco asked. “I’ll say I’m not used at all to dedicating that much time to homework, but it was really nice getting it all done by yesterday afternoon.”

“That’s what happens when you keep up on it.” Dagmar nudged Draco’s leg with her knee. “I don’t think at this point it would draw any new attention if we kept on like that.”

“I’d prefer it, actually. I didn’t really care if I got back into study hall. I just wanted to be close to you.”

Endeared again, Dagmar’s gaze darted to the door before she reached for Draco’s hand to briefly squeeze.

“So what’re you up to, then?” Dagmar asked. “You look like you’re about to head outside. Dashing, by the way.”

“Thanks.” Draco smiled. “Yeah, Luca and I were going to head down to the firedrakes. Hagrid wants us as part of the class to check in periodically on the bonfire keeping the eggs warm. Want to come?”

“I wish.” Dagmar tapped her quill tip against the note she worked on. “I’ve still got some stuff to do here.”

“Couldn’t put it off?”

“Well. . .” Dagmar bunched her lips together. “We probably shouldn’t anyway.”

“Why not?” Draco shrugged again. “We’ve spent the last week holed up in the library together. We could call ourselves friends now, couldn’t we?”

“‘Friends’,” Dagmar repeated, amused. “Quite a different friendship from any other I’ve had.”

Draco laughed. “You know what I mean. People didn’t care as much as we thought they would. Or if they did, you didn’t tell me.”

None of it had come with backlash that Dagmar couldn’t handle. Pansy was sulky about Dagmar spending so much time with Draco, but she didn’t seem to care so long as that time was dedicated toward study. Ginny and her friends made fun of Dagmar for spending time with a boy, and it didn’t seem to matter if that was Draco. Other than Ginny, who had turned her nose up at Dagmar’s explanation, the other girls seemed to have a shorter memory toward Draco’s reputation. Either that, or they gave his perceived shortcomings a pass because he was attractive.

“I guess we could be friends,” Dagmar decided. “Not much, just a little bit to test it out. I want to know what Pansy will think of that before we get too comfortable.”

“Okay,” Draco readily agreed, perking up. “So are you going to come down to the fire with us?”

“Sure.” Dagmar started stacking her parchment up. “I could finish this later.”

“We were going to have lunch first. Hungry?”

“Famished.” Dagmar glanced at him. “I’ll run all this down to my dorm and then meet you there?”

“Okay.”

His excitement to be able to spend time together somewhere other than the library or a dark corner in the dungeons was contagious. Nerves touched it when Dagmar reached the Great Hall. She waved at Ginny when she gestured her over, and had to pass by Pansy at the Slytherin table. Even if Pansy didn’t acknowledge Dagmar, Dagmar could still feel her gaze drilling into her as she took a seat beside Draco.

“So we’re going to look at some eggs, or something?” she spoke in greeting.

“Da, Draco said you were coming,” Luca said from across the table. “It’s too nice a day to stay inside anyway. There would already be snow on the ground at Durmstrang.”

“Actually?” Draco wrinkled his nose.

“Probably not permanently, at least for another month.” Luca shivered in thought of it. “I was told it rained here a lot, but I haven’t seen much of that yet.”

It _had_ been a nice week. Dagmar has been so cooped up that she didn’t have a chance to enjoy it. Other than Astronomy, she hadn’t gone outside at all. The warm sun felt heavenly on her face as she, Draco, and Luca stepped out the front doors. The further surge in Dagmar’s mood from it made it even more difficult not to reach out for Draco. To temper herself, Dagmar slipped her hands into her jacket pockets as they headed across the lawn.

They came around the protrusion of forest that hid the old dragon paddock. It had changed since the last time Dagmar saw it. Draco mentioned his class had been putting together an enclosure for the firedrakes. They couldn’t fly far when young and likely wouldn’t if they were properly tamed out of the gate, but Hagrid had to agree to it as compromise for having them.

Dagmar stood back, arms folded for comfort while Draco and Luca pulled some wood off the pile beside the bonfire to feed it. It whittled the pile down far enough for Luca to say something about it, after which he and Draco headed off to where Hagrid had chopped more logs at the edge of the forest. Dagmar toed at the ground, a little bored, but headed over when Draco called her.

He stopped with a bunch of wood levitating in front of him, and nodded down at the ground. “Could you get him? I don’t want to break concentration.”

Dagmar laughed as Heimdall became visible against Draco’s leg when she got close enough. “Aw, little boy. Are you underfoot?”

Dagmar plucked him up with a grunt. She could’ve sworn he’d already gained a couple pounds since she got him.

“Draco mentioned that was your cat,” Luca said as they all walked back together toward the paddock. “He visited us during classes this week.”

“Oh did he?” Dagmar nuzzled Heimdall, who purred loudly in her arms. “What a friendly boy.”

Dagmar returned to where she’d been standing before, while Draco and Luca carried on replenishing the pile. She had something to do now, in keeping Heimdall at bay. His yellow eyes were wide as he watched Draco and Luca go back and forth, his little cat heart yearning to somehow get in the way. His breathing was long and deep, punctuated by a noise in his throat and struggle as he tried, yet again, to break free of Dagmar’s restraining grasp.

Draco and Luca were a little sweaty from the fire’s heat when they figured they’d done enough. Heimdall purred anew as Draco mindlessly scratched his head.

“Could I see the eggs, then?” Dagmar asked, letting Heimdall jump down.

“From the side of the fire,” Draco replied. “The bucket’s too big for anyone but Hagrid to bring out.”

The eggs looked interesting anyway, as far as Dagmar could see. It grossed her out a little that she could see the unborn firedrakes writhing around inside. Maybe they’d be cuter when they were born.

“When should they hatch?” she asked.

“Next couple of weeks. We each get one to look after for the year.”

Draco’s excitement toward that compelled the urge in Dagmar to reach out again. Were Luca not there (not that he would probably care anyway if they did), Dagmar would feel more relaxed toward some physical contact. She at least had tonight to look forward to, still.

“Cool,” Dagmar said.

* * *

As much as Draco knew it couldn’t last forever, it still pained him to part ways with Dagmar when they all got back up to the castle. Blaise had finally caught up to them after finishing his own homework and, as far as Draco knew, things were still unspoken between him and Dagmar.

Draco glimpsed Dagmar throughout the day, but it drove him crazy more than helped. Even when he’d risk a longer gaze in attempt to catch her eye, Dagmar never looked back. Draco had gotten a taste today of what life could be like for them at Hogwarts. It didn’t entirely help him calm down to know that they were still on to meet later in the Room of Requirement.

His heart beat in anticipation as he cleared out the dungeons for the final time close to eleven. Draco returned to the dorm and laid silent in his bed while waiting for Theo to finally settle into his usual rhythmic snore. Once Draco was certain everyone was asleep, he quietly threw off his blanket. He hadn’t bothered undressing from earlier. He had his bag packed so that he wouldn’t have to come back in the morning.

 _Heading out_ , he dashed into his messenger. Draco put it into his bag rather than wait for Dagmar to respond. The dungeons were still quiet this close to midnight, although Draco was certain he heard what sounded like the Bloody Baron whispering harshly to himself off in the distance. Draco took the long way around that, not wanting to see the ghost on even a good day.

Getting from the dungeons to the seventh floor without being spotted was hard. Draco didn’t have to worry just about staff or ghosts, but portraits as well. He had to take the long way several times around certain corridors. It wouldn’t surprise him, at that point, if Dagmar beat him to the Room of Requirement.

And yet, there was no door along the wall it was located behind. Hoping that he didn’t get this far only to be spotted now, Draco paced back and forth in front of it repeating _‘I need somewhere to sleep with Dagmar’_ over and over in his mind. His third time turning around, the door appeared.

Draco’s stomach flipped weirdly when he opened it. Perhaps because he had in mind where he and Dagmar had spent most of their time together, the room looked like a Hogwarts interpretation of his bedroom. The bed was straight ahead up against the wall, underneath one of the windows. A door led into a bathroom to the right. Draco’s balcony door at Malfoy Manor was just another window here. The walls and floor were still stone.

He set his bag down over by the desk. To be somewhere that resembled home affected Draco in a way he didn’t expect. He couldn’t help but wonder what happened since his departure. Did his mum know what his father had done to him? Did she know that Draco had taken the path of no return? Was that why she hadn’t reached out to him?

Draco removed his school cloak and checked his messenger. Dagmar had responded: _I’ll be doing the same here soon._

He laid down on the bed to wait. Draco hoped, because it had taken him so long to get here, that Dagmar gained some ground in his wake. Then again, she might have run into the same troubles as him. She might not even think about the portraits, since she wasn’t much in the habit of sneaking around after curfew. Draco kept a near-constant gaze on his messenger just in case she ended up telling him she’d been caught and ended up with a month’s worth of detentions. It was nearly half-past-twelve when Draco jumped because of a quick, quiet knock at the door.

Dagmar’s grin greeted him as he opened it. Draco let her in quickly, locking it again with a spell while she slipped her own bag off her shoulder. She had yet to notice the layout of the room. With a warming lower abdomen, Draco realized her gaze was too fixed on him to see, let alone care.

Hot air pooled between them as they both exhaled in relief at the press of their lips. Draco hadn’t realized just how much of his weight he was putting against her until her back found the wall. Dagmar’s fingertips dug into his shoulders, and he could feel her trembling much the same way he was. It had been a painful week without this, no matter what had forced space between them.

If Draco wasn’t attached to Dagmar’s mouth, he wanted to be latched to her neck. Her breathing nearly put him into a trance as it got heavier. Dagmar gasped when he surprised her with a nibble, her fingers digging in again at his back.

“Hey,” she whispered with a light push at his shoulder. “Come here.”

She held his face just as gently as they kissed again. They broke apart and when Draco leaned back in, Dagmar turned her jaw. Although she intended to playfully cheat him of the contact he sought, it only meant he ended up pressing his lips to her cheek. Her amused chuckle inspired a grin from Draco.

“Oh, I’ve missed you,” Dagmar said. “I’ve missed _this_.”

“Me too.” Draco wrapped her up in his arms. “It’s been one hell of a week. I don’t think I would’ve survived if we didn’t get to sneak in the odd thing after curfew.”

“I’d tell you not to exaggerate, but I feel the same.” Dagmar kissed his temple and rubbed his back. “Is it just me, or does this place look a lot like your room?”

Draco chuckled. Now that Dagmar was here, he was having a hard time feeling anything but peacefulness. It didn’t matter what kind of a mess they’d left for themselves at Malfoy Manor. So long as Draco had this to look forward to for the rest of his life, he could make do.

He revelled in the freedom to finally undress Dagmar. There hadn’t been much opportunity to see her below the neck since they’d left home. The air left Draco’s lungs when she stood naked in front of him. Gooseflesh rose over her exposed skin and her shoulders tensed. She didn’t feel chilly, though, when Draco pulled her up against him again.

The bed even creaked similarly to Draco’s. Dagmar noticed too. Enough of a gap opened between them for a matched pair of snorts. Draco rested his head on Dagmar’s shoulder, nuzzling it as she scratched his back. She was at least as eager as Draco, which helped the degree of his dispossession. He lifted his head again when her nails ran a trail from the small of his back around his hip to the front. Were he not so fascinated by the vulnerableness of Dagmar’s glazed eyes and parted lips, Draco wouldn’t have been able to resist catching the latter again with his own.

His breath caught in his chest when Dagmar guided him inside her, her knees coming up before her legs wrapped around his waist. She drew him right in, leaving Draco feeling drunk. He hadn’t forgotten how she felt, but the reminder certainly wasn’t lost on him.

Draco brushed a stray piece of hair off her forehead before dipping his head to catch Dagmar’s bottom lip. Pulling back from his nestled position similarly drew the air from her lungs. Dagmar’s eyes cracked open as Draco deliberately sunk back into her. He stayed slow, revelling over and over how her body received him. Draco’s lips fell open when Dagmar tightened around him. It wasn’t an orgasm—yet—but clearly Draco wasn’t the only one savouring the sensation inch by delightful inch.

A new form of peace draped over Draco and Dagmar as they laid together afterward. Even though it was past one in the morning now and Draco was thoroughly exhausted, he just didn’t have it in him yet to fall asleep. He didn’t know when he would have Dagmar like this again.

“So Pansy never said anything today about us hanging out?” Draco asked.

“She asked me about it.” Dagmar resettled the blanket over them to better shield from the cool room. “I told her you and Luca just wanted to show me the firedrake eggs, but that I’d spent most of our time on the grounds playing with my cat instead.”

“What did she think?”

“She was pouty.” Dagmar shrugged. “She backed herself into a bit of a corner, though, by saying she dumped you rather than the other way around. She can’t be possessive if she doesn’t want you, right? At least not outwardly.”

“That’s true.” Draco scratched lightly at Dagmar’s thigh. “I know I’m a bit of a broken record, but we said we’d talk about it again once we got a feel for how things were here. If we can be friendly to each other in the public eye, who’s to say we couldn’t eventually start dating?”

Draco braced himself for Dagmar’s usual response. She looked more thoughtful than uncomfortable, though.

“I want to,” she said. “I hope that’s never seemed up for debate, even though it’s always me that turned down the idea over the summer.”

“No, I understood.”

Dagmar squeezed his shoulder. “I think we can discount the idea of being pegged as Death Eaters because of it if our relationship looked like it started here rather than at home. As for Pansy when the time comes, if she tries anything, I can use her version of your split to my advantage. She might be scared that I’ll tell everyone the truth because surely you would tell your girlfriend you were the one to break it off. I don’t know which of my friends will stay and which will go, which is my only real concern at this point. At the same time, we’re leaving Britain in June. We might not even see anybody from here again.”

“Yeah.” Still, after how much of a dead-end these conversations had been over the summer, Draco was reserved about letting his hopes get too high.

“I haven’t been ditched yet for associating with you, so that’s promising.” Dagmar flashed a smile. “They all asked about it. I think the only one that really thought poorly on it was Ginny.”

“What about Granger?”

Dagmar shrugged. “I told her the story about testing you for study hall, and she accepted it.”

“What’re you going to tell her now?” Draco asked. “If we’re going to openly associate as friends?”

“Probably just that something’s different.” Dagmar chuckled. “You’re focused on your studies, you’re keeping to yourself, and your social circle has even changed. We’ve never had any previous issues since we didn’t really associate before this year, and if you’re trying to act less like a git, I don’t want to discourage you. Wouldn’t hurt to mention that when you’re not a right prat you’re actually quite pleasant to be around, and I just like you.”

“That honestly might be harder to pull off than us transitioning from there to dating.”

“Maybe.” Dagmar sidled up closer to kiss him. “I mean, if I already like you, then what’s there left to say at that point? I don’t think anyone would deny that you’re a good-looking man, so it’s not like I’d have to justify that part.”

“Me neither.” Draco nuzzled their noses together. “I don’t have to justify anything at all. You’re a good catch all around.”


	10. The Taming of Draco Malfoy

Sunlight streamed in through the windows when Draco roused, come morning. Dagmar was pressed up against his back, her arm around his middle and fingers entwined in his.

“What time is it?” Draco hated to ask.

“Just before eight.”

“Damn.”

More than fall back asleep, Draco just wanted to stay with Dagmar for as long as they cared to. Since they’d arrived at the Room of Requirement so late, they didn’t really get much time together. Who knew when next they could come back?

Dagmar crawled over Draco, stalling while straddling him long enough to kiss his cheek and temple. The smile it drew out of Draco lingered while she headed over to her bag. Draco eyed Dagmar’s backside when she bent down to pick it up. His gaze shifted to her chest instead as she brought it back to the bed. She only bothered to pull on fresh knickers before nipping into the toilet.

With a sigh, Draco figured he might as well do the same. He wanted breakfast before class, even if it was just toast on the way by.

He was a few paces behind Dagmar. He pulled on fresh pants and met her in the bathroom doorway. After Draco had emptied his bladder, Dagmar returned to the bathroom to wash her face and brush her hair. She’d put her bra back on, which didn’t stop Draco from running his hands up over her breasts while he briefly wrapped his arms around her from behind. Dagmar laughed, bending her neck as needed to let Draco nuzzle the nook of it.

It was a shame, yet fascinating in a way, to watch Dagmar dress in the bedroom. Draco had never seen her put her school uniform on. When she wore it, she looked far too proper to be someone that whispered the kinds of things she did in Draco’s ear when he was on the verge of cumming. Draco was straightening his tie when Dagmar picked up their pile of clothes from last night. Dagmar separated them on the bed, stalling when she came to her knickers. With a smirk, she held them out to Draco.

“Unless you were joking?” she said when Draco just stared.

“No,” Draco scoffed. “I wasn’t.”

He quickly finished with his tie so that he could take them. Draco couldn’t do it without sneaking in a little affection while he was at it, which quickly turned into a groan of disappointment.

“Wish we could do something if we weren’t cutting it so close on time,” he lamented.

“Me too.” Dagmar rubbed his hip. “I could stand to be lazy and fool around all day like we did in the summer.”

Draco chuckled before closing the gap between their lips again. “Maybe we’ll get lucky and a day will come.”

Since Draco wanted breakfast and Dagmar intended just to skip it, he left the Room of Requirement ahead of her. This corridor was close by the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw common rooms, but thankfully not a common passage for either house. Draco could just barely hear the distant murmur of students similarly starting their days. He tapped on the door to let Dagmar know the coast was clear before heading for the nearest set of stairs.

Draco reached the Great Hall with twenty-five minutes to go until Herbology started. Blaise, Theo, and Daphne had all beat him there, and were only about halfway through their breakfasts.

“Morning.” Blaise was the first one to greet him. “You missed some mail.”

“I did?” Draco immediately forgot the toast he’d grabbed. “From who?”

“Looked like one of your—oh, here it comes back.” Blaise pointed up at the windows.

Draco’s stomach flipped, shrugging off his appetite. It was indeed one of the owls kept at Malfoy Manor, his mother’s favourite tawny owl named Juno. She carried a box Draco recognized immediately as one from Swell’s Sweets in Diagon Alley.

“Hey Juno.” Draco tried not to let his surprise come through his tone. Any other year—any other week, really—this was a common occurrence. The sweets package had a note attached with Draco’s name. He would recognize his mother’s loopy handwriting anywhere.

Draco sent Juno off with the biggest piece of bacon he could find on the platter. Forgetting the package for now, Draco ripped open the envelope. His heart pounded as he unfolded the short note:

_Hey sweetheart,_

_Hope these find you well and that school is going all right. It’ll be a tough year but I know you’ll get through just fine._

_Love you,_

_Mum_

_Ps. The sweets are to be shared._

“Good news?” Theo asked through a mouthful of scrambled egg.

“Huh?” Draco looked up. “Er, no, just a note from my mum.”

“Merlin, must be some note,” he said with a cheeky grin. “Looked almost like you might need a tissue or something.”

Theo went quiet right after saying that, as did Daphne and Blaise. All three of them looked at Draco, braced, but he just furrowed his brow.

“Sorry, did I miss the punchline, or was that the joke?” he asked when none of them said anything. “That I love my mum?”

Theo just waved it off, and things slowly returned to normal. Draco couldn’t help but stew on what he’d missed. Maybe it was something that had happened before he’d arrived, and he just didn’t get the reference.

Blaise got up with Draco when he decided to make a run down to the dorms and drop off his parcel. Draco told Blaise he didn’t have to come, but Blaise mentioned something about forgetting his gloves.

“Good on you for not saying the first thing that came to mind back there,” Blaise broke the silence between them in a quiet stretch of dungeon.

Draco frowned. “What’re you on about?”

“Theo joking about your mum, when his is dead?”

Draco stopped walking. His confusion didn’t have much room to grow, so it started gaining heat on its way toward annoyance. “Why would I joke about that?”

Blaise shrugged. “He opened himself up to it.”

“So?”

“Do I have to point out that’s usually all it takes for you?”

Draco just rolled his eyes. Even though he hadn’t said anything—hadn’t even recognized the situation as one he would’ve jumped on less than three months ago—a bad feeling still sparked to life somewhere near his stomach. Draco didn’t really get why it was there, and he certainly had no proclivity toward it. The sooner Draco was distracted in class, the better.

Even though Blaise lagged behind after having his say, he still followed Draco all the way to the dorms. Draco had very luckily looked up at the door before moving Dagmar’s knickers from his bag to his trunk. Blaise leaned against the frame with folded arms, his dark eyes narrowed in consideration.

“So what, then?” he said. “Tied your laces straight, or have you completely lost the plot?”

“Blaise, just sod off. I’m not in the mood for riddles.”

“That’s what last week was all about, wasn’t it?” Blaise kept on. “Dagmar was going to lift your ban in study hall if you behaved.”

“And?” Draco passed Blaise by.

“She didn’t.” Blaise fell into step. “So we were expecting business would be back to normal for you.”

Draco just shrugged. He didn’t know what to say about the whole thing. He hadn’t really anticipated that Dagmar’s cover story would be interpreted that way, but he could see why. Nobody but her had paid witness to Draco’s efforts over the summer to be a happier person—one worth being with, for her.

“Are you complaining?” Draco asked.

“Not at all,” Blaise replied.

“Then I’m not sure what you’re after.”

“Would just be nice if it was permanent, is all.”

“Noted.”

“So what exactly happened?” Blaise kept on. “Now I’m thinking about it, something changed over the holidays. No more Pansy, no more Crabbe and Goyle. . .why’d you even want back into study hall in the first place?”

Draco considered Blaise. Although Blaise was similarly raised in a traditional home, he was no Death Eater. That had been one of the defining factors of Mr. and Mrs. Ramstad changing their mind about Dagmar marrying Draco instead. Draco could trust that Blaise would understand.

“I realized where I was going,” Draco said when they’d stepped outside of the castle. “I also realized I had no interest in serving him.”

“No?” Blaise took it in stride. “So what’re you going to do instead?”

“Dunno,” Draco hedged, “but if I get top marks this year, I could do whatever I please.”

“You’re in the right classes for it,” Blaise said. “Good on you, then. That’s why Dagmar agreed to help you?”

Draco nodded after some thought. In regards to his and Dagmar’s current story as they presented it to the rest of the student body, it made the most sense. Dagmar wouldn’t have agreed for less to vouch for him, whether or not they were together.

“Why didn’t she let you back into study hall?”

“Had to weigh me against everyone else that wasn’t as familiar with the situation.”

“Ah.”

“She’s still going to help me.”

“Good. I can too, you know, if you need it.”

“Thanks, mate.”

Under any other circumstances, Draco would dislike the satisfied smirk on Blaise’s face. He’d adjusted by now to the concept that Dagmar could be proud of him, but it was still a foreign feeling when it came to others. All throughout class as they worked, Draco could feel Blaise’s side-eyed attention on him. It wasn’t necessarily a bad feeling, even if it left Draco slightly uncomfortable.

Draco had told Blaise more than he maybe should have, or he should’ve at least consulted with Dagmar first. He would have if he had the chance. Draco didn’t expect to be confronted like that.

He didn’t cross paths with Dagmar as anything more than a classmate for most of the day. After Herbology, they both migrated to Charms, then while Draco took a long lunch before Care of Magical Creatures, Dagmar was busy with Arithmancy. She was already an hour deep into study hall when Draco returned to the castle, sweaty and sore from dedicating another class toward building the firedrake enclosure.

A hot shower and dip into the sweets he’d received from his mum served Draco well until Blaise suggested they spend an hour on homework before dinner. Going to the library came with the added bonus of glimpsing Dagmar at work in study hall. She occasionally walked past the doors separating the room from the library. He couldn’t help but glance over once in a while, in hopes of seeing her go by again.

Draco and Blaise were still in the library when study hall let out at five. Dagmar was the last to leave, extinguishing the room’s torches behind her with a wave of her wand. Since Blaise’s nose was buried in the Herbology textbook, Draco raised a hand in acknowledgement of Dagmar. She grinned in response. Were Blaise not there, Draco figured she might have come over.

He got to see her soon enough. After dinner, Draco returned quickly to the dorm to fetch his bag along with some of the sweets. Dagmar sat at the table they’d unofficially claimed in the library, and looked up in interest when Draco covertly passed her a toffee. She hid it in her hand under the table before Madam Pince could notice it.

“What’s this for?” she whispered.

“Part of a parcel my mum put together for us.”

Dagmar furrowed her brow. “She sent you something?”

Draco passed Dagmar the accompanying note. While he yearned to believe that everything still remained good and well between him and his parents, Draco was hesitant to let his hopes get too high. He still had a reminder to the contrary every time he caught a glimpse of his reflection.

Dagmar looked at Draco’s still-healing eye as well. “I wonder if she even knows. Did she see him do it?”

Draco shook his head.

“Would he have told her?”

“I don’t know, but I doubt it.”

Draco’s mum had allowed his father to punish him corporally in-past, but this had certainly taken things to a new level. His father used to show restraint and limit his strikes both in location and severity. Draco had a hard time seeing how his father could justify this, so it might be easier for him just to let it go. That of course didn’t lessen the potential danger Draco felt from You-Know-Who, but he at least got to keep his mum through it. It was more than Draco had dared hope for when he and Dagmar left Malfoy Manor the previous Sunday.

Dagmar chewed her toffee with a long face, as well as any other sweets Draco passed over to her from the parcel. She shook her head when Draco asked her if everything was all right. Dagmar wouldn’t talk about it in such an open place, so Draco had to wait until they met up past curfew in the dungeons.

“Just makes me wonder what _my_ parents know,” Dagmar said. “If your father didn’t tell your mum about striking your face, maybe he didn’t tell mine I went in to see Voldemort. Voldemort might not have told them either.”

Draco flinched. “I don’t want to derail the conversation, but why do you use his name?”

“Not really scared of him anymore, I guess.” Dagmar shrugged. “Besides, didn’t I kind of earn the right?”

“Is what you did really something you want to draw attention to?”

“I can call him You-Know-Who if you’d prefer.”

“It isn’t about what I prefer.”

“I don’t use his name when I speak to anyone else, not that he comes up.”

“We’re not safe,” Draco reminded her. “We are while we’re here, but we really shouldn’t get too comfortable. We just had this discussion not very long ago.”

“Ja,” Dagmar agreed in a quieter voice. “I guess.”

Draco slipped his hand into hers. He was still having a hard time figuring out where exactly her mind was with it all.

“It’s just hard to keep feeling scared,” she told him. “I feel safe with you. I feel safe under Dumbledore. Nothing happened in the last week so. . .I don’t know, those feelings get put aside, and we just move on.”

“I get that.” Draco came close enough to kiss the side of her head. “Being back at school demands so much of our attention too. It’s hard to really think of anything beyond these grounds.”

Dagmar nodded. “I want to enjoy that freedom before we have to deal with it again. I won’t spend this entire year dreading what might come after. It’s such a waste of time that we could spend in much better ways.”

Draco couldn’t help but smile when Dagmar turned her face toward his. He certainly agreed that he preferred focusing on what he had rather than what he didn’t. Draco didn’t need soft, pliant lips against his to sway him, but it didn’t hurt either.

“Before I forget,” Draco said when they parted. “Blaise asked me today about the study hall thing. He wouldn’t accept anything short of me having no intentions of being a Death Eater.”

Dagmar’s eyebrows jumped up. “You told him that?”

“He’s trustworthy, right?” Draco asked. “He figured I would be one, but he gets the change of heart. He knows you know, and he thinks that’s why you agreed to help me do well this year.”

“Okay.”

“It’s fine?”

“Ja.” Dagmar squeezed Draco’s hand as further reassurance. “I mean, even if it wasn’t, can’t take it back. It’s not like he has any contact with Death Eaters. If he did, I’d probably still be betrothed to him.”

“That’s what I thought.”

Draco felt better to get that off his chest, just in case it _did_ cause a problem. Really, it might not have been the worst thing for one of the school portraits to ‘accidentally’ overhear and begin to spread. The only thing that worried Draco about that was how it might affect things outside this school. Maybe his father hadn’t only not told his mum about his denouncement, but maybe he kept it from You-Know-Who as well. Maybe he didn’t even believe his son could possibly change his mind, and that leaving as he and Dagmar did was just the result of a teenaged boy throwing a tantrum.

“Your parents.” Draco brought them back around to the subject. “Is it normal for them to go so long without writing you?”

“Mhm,” Dagmar confirmed. “We haven’t talked much away from home since they joined him. I just write it off as that they’re too busy.”

Draco couldn’t imagine his mum being too busy for him. Although he felt sorry for Dagmar and probably showed it in the way his mouth worked, she smiled.

“It’s okay,” Dagmar told him. “I knew I wouldn’t have much to do with them once I was out on my own. It just came a little sooner than I expected. I already grieved that loss.”

“Still kinda sucks.”

“I guess.”

Still, when the two of them parted for the night, Draco had a hard time understanding that. He couldn’t really empathize with being all right without his mum. His father. . .okay, maybe Draco started to get it.

Draco pulled his mum’s note out of his bag before he laid down to go to sleep. He’d debated on and off all day whether or not he should pen a reply. Thankfully, Dagmar hadn’t seen the harm, so long as he kept certain things out of it. It gave Draco something to do tomorrow afternoon that had nothing to do with schoolwork.

* * *

While Dagmar had kept on top of her homework coming into Tuesday, Professor Parasca and Professor Snape dashed the hope of making it a daily occurrence. Dagmar already started mentally reviewing everything she knew about knotgrass as she handed in a sample vial of her and Draco’s assignment. She was satisfied to see the cough potion hardening in places into makeshift lozenges.

“Hey,” a voice beside Dagmar jarred her from her thoughts. “Got a minute?”

Dagmar blinked at Blaise. “Er—ja, sure.”

“I’d like a word.” Blaise lowered his voice to avoid anyone nearby overhearing, however distracted they were by the prospect of leaving the dungeons. “Are you in a hurry to get lunch?”

“It can wait.”

Nerves eliminated a good portion of Dagmar’s hunger. She dawdled in packing up her things. Draco lingered for Blaise, and didn’t seem to clue in when Blaise told him to go ahead and get them a spot at the Slytherin table.

When Dagmar and Blaise were the only students remaining in the classroom other than Professor Snape, Dagmar headed for the door. Everybody else had headed for the Great Hall. Dagmar leaned against the wall until Blaise emerged. She pushed off, and fell in step beside him.

They stopped at a good spot in the corridor where they would be able to see people coming from three different directions. There were also no portraits nearby on the walls. The dead silence grew quickly uncomfortable, and not just to Dagmar. Blaise was having a hard time meeting her gaze.

His shoulders rose and fell with a short sigh. “I wanted to apologize for how we left off at Florean’s.”

“You had every right to be upset,” Dagmar replied.

“I’ve had time to think about it,” Blaise said. “I get what you were saying. We didn’t really ever. . .I don’t know. It would’ve happened, if it was going to happen.”

“Ja.”

Dagmar chewed on her bottom lip, nerves coming right back as she pondered how much honesty she owed Blaise. It wasn’t like she’d be able to hide this once she and Draco were publicly dating.

“I still don’t think our betrothal ending means we have to go separate ways,” Dagmar carefully said. “With that in mind, I’ll answer any questions you might have. You deserve to know that it’s Draco.”

Blaise didn’t react at all how Dagmar expected. She anticipated another downward shift in attitude like at Florean’s. Blaise considered her, and Dagmar wondered if he could hear her heart pounding against her ribcage.

“I should’ve probably seen it yesterday, to be honest,” he told her. “Why you spend so much time with him, why he’s all of a sudden so disciplined, why he doesn’t want to be a Death Eater anymore. . .”

“That was his decision,” Dagmar said.

“You don’t think you had anything to do with it at all?”

Dagmar shrugged. “I told him right at the get-go that I would never be married to a Death Eater. He said he didn’t have any intention to join, so it was a non-issue.”

Blaise nodded, distracted. “And this all happened before you and I talked?”

Discomfort still plagued Dagmar about how she and Draco had handled that period. If Blaise was going to hate Dagmar for it and she’d already promised the truth, then there was no point hesitating to deliver it.

“I found out about two weeks before we met up,” Dagmar said. “Neither Draco or I bothered right away to end things with you or Pansy. While we went into it with an open mind, I think both of us were doubtful it would pan out. You know how involved he was with Pansy, after all, and I was content to move forward with you. Our parents wanted us to try, but mine accepted I might opt-out of the change. I didn’t expect. . .”

Dagmar trailed off, reorganizing her thoughts. “I’m sorry, there’s probably no real way to openly discuss this without risking hurting your feelings. I didn’t expect to like Draco as much as I do. I didn’t even think I’d be able to trust him. He lights something in me I’ve never felt before, though. I don’t know how to explain it because I don’t really have anything to compare it to. We just fell in together.”

Blaise’s face lengthened as Dagmar spoke. She couldn’t tell if he was hurt or angered by her words but, whichever it was, he still made no indication when Dagmar left him room to speak.

“Other than the fact you got caught in the middle of it, it really had nothing to do with you,” Dagmar continued. “I didn’t choose him over you. There was no choice to be made.”

“Your parents were pressuring you?”

“Nei. I felt for him a way I knew I’d never feel for you.”

Blaise met her gaze with that. “So then what did five years mean to you?”

“We’ve already been over this.” Dagmar exhaled impatiently to have already circled around right to the beginning. “We were always friends. I don’t know why it’s so hard for you to accept that that’s all we ever would’ve been, married or not, but we literally don’t have to throw anything we had away. You just need to be a little less proud about it. It isn’t even anything about you in particular that kept this from working. We just didn’t mesh that way. So you can sulk about it all you want, it’s not going to change anything. If you like me enough to get what we had back, then pick up your bottom lip and let’s do it. The only thing stopping us is you.”

Blaise’s eyebrows had slowly risen while she talked, and remained seated high on his forehead. The last thing Dagmar expected Blaise to do was scoff.

“Bloody hell,” he said. “No wonder Draco’s so whipped into shape.”

“I didn’t _whip_ him,” Dagmar snapped. “You can ask him yourself. I told him right from the beginning that I refused to be his new mum.”

“I believe you.” Blaise raised a hand. “Relax, I’m not knocking you or anything. I can just see the kind of resistance he would’ve met if he ever tried to get away with any of his usual shite.”

“I don’t want you to think I changed him.” Although Dagmar’s defences were still up, she tentatively lowered her hackles. “I might have offered him the means or the motivation, but it was all him. He deserves his own credit.”

“All right, then.” Blaise leaned against the wall. “There’s something I wanted to know, if you’re still open to me asking questions. You said it wasn’t initially up to you that our arrangement get thrown out. Why did your parents change their mind? Was it something I did? Something my mum did? Something else?”

“It didn’t have anything to do with you or your mum.” Dagmar hesitated again. “You never realized my parents are Death Eaters?”

“What?” Blaise’s brow furrowed with his alarm. “No. Was I supposed to know?”

Dagmar shrugged. Shame from that rose within her as well as tentative fear that, despite trusting Blaise, she may have potentially revealed it to the wrong person. “I never told you explicitly, nei. I didn’t want any part of it. They only joined when You-Know-Who came back.”

“I never thought they’d care. You’re not even originally from Britain, so why?”

“I don’t know.” Dagmar’s gaze was stuck where she toed the cobblestone. “I never asked because I didn’t want to have a conversation about it with them. Putting me with Draco seemed to be their way of trying to keep me close.”

“So then why would you agree with it? I’m assuming at that point there were no feelings between you and Draco.”

“He didn’t want to join either, so I couldn’t snub him on that alone.” Dagmar looked up. “If he did, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. You and I would be engaged.”

“Right.”

“For the record, I didn’t mean to keep that it was Draco a secret,” Dagmar said. “When we met up at Florean’s, I intended to tell you. It just never came up. And I hope you don’t hold it against Draco for not telling you either. I asked him not to. I thought I owed it to you personally, but I also wanted to know first that I could trust you not to tell Pansy. You must realize the power I’m putting in your hands about my quality of life until June.”

Dagmar only half-joked. Blaise thankfully didn’t take it as one, pressing his lips instead. “Yeah, I can see that. She’s not very stable right now.”

“Not when she thinks I’m the best friend she has here.”

Blaise finally managed a smile, even if it was tight.

“So are we okay then?” Dagmar asked. “Anything else you want to know?”

“Not that I can really think of, at the moment.” Blaise shrugged. “I mean. . .it’s going to be another adjustment. It’s just weird to see you and Draco together in any capacity, since you’ve pretty much ignored each other’s existence up until now.”

“I get it.” Dagmar adjusted her bag on her shoulder. “Don’t worry. It’ll probably be a while yet before we’re open about it.”

“All right.” Blaise gestured at the hallway. “I’ve probably held us off from lunch long enough, anyway. Thanks for humouring me.”

Dagmar laughed. “You say that as if I haven’t wanted you to reach out.”

Blaise stayed in stride with Dagmar on their way up to the Great Hall. It was good to finally be able to talk to him again. With everything else happening, Dagmar hadn’t had much chance to feel that loss. That they could pretty much immediately fall back into how they’d been before confirmed what Dagmar had known all along: this was the pinnacle of their chemistry, and there was absolutely nothing wrong with that.


	11. Eyes on the Future

Wednesday saddled Draco again with a hefty chunk of homework. His head was swimming after Transfiguration, thanks to the four feet of parchment McGonagall gave them. He’d barely sat down in the Great Hall for lunch when a note came to rest next to his plate. He frowned before opening it.

“Who’s that from?” Blaise asked beside him.

“Snape.” Draco shoved it into his pocket before resuming piling chips onto his plate. “Wants to see me after the lunch hour.”

“How come?”

“Doesn’t say.” Draco didn’t even have to lie. “Hopefully I didn’t get a T on that self-testing essay.”

“Maybe you got an O, and Snape thinks it’s suspicious.”

“He wouldn’t.” Draco rolled his eyes at Blaise’s playful smirk. “Os are normal for me in Potions.”

Professor Snape hadn’t bothered coming up out of the dungeons for lunch. Draco headed down right after eating. Sure enough, Snape sat in his office grading papers. Draco supposed, with the amount that Snape assigned, he had little choice but to dedicate most of his office hours toward that.

“You wanted to see me, Professor?” Draco announced himself.

“Yes,” Snape answered. “Close the door behind you. Come sit.”

Draco set his bag down beside his chair as he did. He folded his hands in his lap, toying mindlessly with his fingers.

Snape studied him. “Your eye looks like it’s healing all right.”

Draco nodded. “Madam Pomfrey said it should probably clear up by the weekend, maybe with just a little discolouration still.”

“Does it hurt?”

“Not anymore.”

“Good.” Snape set his quill aside so that he could fully focus on the discussion. “I spoke to Madam Pomfrey about what had happened. She told me that while it was possible you sustained this injury falling off a broom, it’s not normally such a concentrated effect. Usually there’ll be bruising all along the body, if not broken bones to accompany it. I wrote your mother.”

Draco’s stomach slowly slid downward into the pits of his abdomen.

“She said you had a disagreement with your father,” Snape continued. “Of course, with the Ministry randomly checking mail, she was unable to provide details. I’m curious what the matter of the disagreement was that would compel your father to strike you this way.”

“Just a family matter,” Draco hedged. Shame pooled where his stomach had once been, which made it hard to meet Snape’s gaze. “I doubt it’ll ever happen again.”

“I don’t ask for personal reasons,” Snape replied. “As your Head of House, it’s my job to ensure that you’re well and safe. That includes that everything is all right at home. Considering your mother told me your father was the perpetrator, I take it to mean she wanted us to have a conversation about it. She would know I’m compelled to act on that information.”

“I would rather we didn’t. Like I said, it won’t happen again.”

“Are you concerned that I would pass along whatever you say here to your parents?” Snape asked. “If you so choose, I can simply tell your mother that I looked into the matter and was satisfied by what you had to say. You’re an adult now. They are no longer your legal guardians.”

It wasn’t exactly his parents that Draco feared Snape would talk to. His mum told Snape that the black eye resulted from getting hit by his father, which more than likely meant she also knew why his father had done it. If his father told his mum, then who was to say he kept it from You-Know-Who? Draco started to feel sick at the question Dagmar had raised last week about Snape. _Could_ they trust him? Maybe this here was Snape looking for confirmation about what Draco had said, that he had no interest in being a Death Eater. If that was the case, did it make him a loose end? Draco didn’t know much about Death Eater doings, but he knew enough. You-Know-Who did business regularly at Malfoy Manor. Draco knew the Ramstads were Death Eaters. Passing along that information to the Ministry or to Dumbledore would undo any of the careful work Draco and Dagmar’s parents had done for their public image this summer.

“I was just being disrespectful,” Draco said. “I spoke out of turn. I may have mentioned to my father that I had no interest in the Dark Lord’s business. I didn’t think it would come as a surprise, given I had a career in mind that would keep me too busy to be involved in anything after Hogwarts.”

“Unless you yourself told him, he doesn’t know.”

Draco furrowed his brow.

“You asked it to be kept between us,” Snape elaborated. “I never had a reason to tell them your plans, nor did they ask.”

“I see.”

“You intend to move forward on that, then?”

Draco nodded. “Dagmar’s helping me pull up the grades I need. I was shy of the mark in Herbology and Charms last year.”

“She should certainly manage, whether your ban was lifted for study hall or not. It’s not often I have the pleasure of issuing a grade on an essay higher than the one Ms. Granger earned.”

Heat flooded Draco’s face. “What?”

“Both you and Ms. Ramstad managed.” Snape smirked. “I would suggest you stick close to her. She seems to have a way of getting through to you, not that your grades were necessarily bad before.”

“I will,” Draco said, as if he had any intention of doing anything else anyway. “Oh, say. . .I meant to come by last week and ask, would you happen to have the requirement lists on hand for the dragon reserves? I’m going to apply to all of them, but I’m curious what might give me an edge.”

“I do.” Snape stood from his desk and went to the biggest of his filing cabinets. He opened the drawer labelled ‘L-M’. “It’s never too early to start on your applications. The December deadline will be here before you know it. Also, consider how far some of the owls you send will have to travel.”

Draco’s file was large enough to require Snape to set it down on his desk before flipping through. He held out a handful of parchment sheets stuck together at the top left corner.

“It’s a very competitive field,” Snape told him. “These aren’t just basic requirements, but recommendations as well. If you want to better your chances, I would suggest you adhere to as many of them as possible.”

“Okay,” Draco said. “Thanks, Professor.”

“Draco.”

He turned around halfway to Snape’s door.

“About everything else we discussed.” Snape resumed his seat. “My door is always open. You can trust my confidence.”

Draco nodded, but he wasn’t entirely sure when it came to matters about You-Know-Who. The stakes were just too high for Draco to misplace his trust. It wasn’t as if he didn’t have somebody else to talk to who was more familiar with the situation than Snape could ever be.

With still a little over an hour to go until Care of Magical Creatures, Draco migrated toward the dorm to drop off his books from the morning, and go over the package Snape had handed him. There were five pages covering all fifteen of the world’s reserves. Draco had vaguely looked into this during his fifth year out of curiosity for the language barrier. Seeing that five of them listed English had satisfied him for the time being.

Draco’s prime interest right now was what Jotunheimen would require. He didn’t remember it being one of the reserves that recommended English, and he was right. Norwegian of course was the primary one, otherwise either Swedish or Danish. All reserves recommended a strong background in flying, which Draco certainly had. Jotunheimen also requested Os in Potions, Care of Magical Creatures, Charms, and Herbology, and an E in Transfiguration.

His heart dropped at that. He’d known about the O in Charms, but not Herbology. Draco thought he only had to get an E.

It made Draco feel a little better to look at other reserve requirements. The ones that probably didn’t deal with so many poisonous dragon breeds, like Nááts’įhch’oh Dragon Reserve in Canada, only requested the equivalent of an A in Herbology, which was Draco’s final grade last year.

However, what Snape had said about the field being competitive stuck in Draco’s mind. It might not matter if he surpassed all the requirements. If somebody else more local or with a more interesting background stuck out to the people that decided who to take, Draco could miss out completely. And then what?

He tried not to think about that. Draco knew it was going to be a tough road that would require a lot of hard work, which may or may not pay off in the end.

Because Care of Magical Creatures demanded so much physically right now, Draco was at least able to put his concerns aside for the hour. He showered after class before looking anew at all the requirements. The best Draco could do was excel beyond the suggested grades where possible, and learn any language listed other than English. The latter was certainly impossible in the span of a year, since there were sixteen languages between them all, but Draco could at least add Jotunheimen to his application list if he learned Norwegian.

Dagmar furrowed her brow and reached for the reserve package when Draco dropped it on the table between them at the library later. “What’s this?”

“Got it from Snape today,” Draco whispered back. “I need you to teach me Norwegian.”

Dagmar glanced at him before silently flipping through all the pages. Her gaze skimmed back and forth as she read. She looked up at the end.

“You could at least apply to the ones in Canada, Guyana, Australia, and the United States just speaking English,” she said. “Romania too, even if it’s just a secondary language. You were serious about trying for Jotunheimen?”

“Yeah.” Draco shrugged. “Why wouldn’t I be? We talked about it. It would be our ideal place.”

Dagmar smiled apologetically. “I didn’t know if you were serious or not. You got really quiet after mentioning it.”

“The pressure of trying to land at one place made me nervous,” Draco replied. “Doesn’t mean it wasn’t my first choice. It’s closest to home, anyway. Unless I got on in Romania, we’d be putting an ocean between us and Britain.”

“Not that that would be the worst thing in the world, considering, but I still would prefer Norway,” Dagmar flipped back to the third page, where Jotunheimen’s requirements were listed. “There’s at least a sea between here and there.”

“So that’s going to be my prime focus, then.” Draco still felt nervous to make that commitment. “I’m going to have to get Os in pretty much everything. It’s what I should aim for anyway, to make this as surefire as possible. Snape said the field is very competitive. I could easily lose out to somebody who maybe didn’t do as well in school, but just so happens to be a native-born. Who knows what _really_ factors in?”

Dagmar pressed her lips together. “I think you’re capable of that, but it’s going to mean a lot of hours spent here studying. That might be the case whether or not you have homework to do.”

“I’m willing,” Draco said. “If I don’t get this, I don’t know what else I would do.”

“Then I guess let’s get going.”

Draco already had, before dinner. He took extra time doing his homework from Potions to allow for a more inquisitive approach. Snape asked for information primarily on knotgrass, but whenever another ingredient was mentioned in tandem with that one, Draco looked into it. Although it rarely contributed to the essay he put together, he was starting to see connections in the subject that he hadn’t necessarily before. On top of what Snape had told him earlier about managing a higher grade than Granger of all people, Draco’s shaky confidence in his ability to pull this off stabilized.

“By the way,” he said as he read over what he had so far of his essay, “I’m about ninety-percent sure knotgrass is a Polyjuice Potion ingredient. It’s a binding agent when combined with moderately stewed lacewing flies, which also narrows that window to between fourteen and twenty-five days.”

A slow smile grew on Dagmar’s face, and lingered throughout the evening. Based on previous experience, Draco had a feeling that when they were alone, he would feel the full weight of her attraction toward him. Sure enough, Draco ended up grinning to himself as his back pressed into the dungeon wall. Dagmar would hardly give him a chance to breathe while they snogged.

“Is this just about figuring that thing out about the Polyjuice Potion?” Draco asked.

Dagmar shrugged, still leaned against him. “I’ve always found bright men attractive.”

“Glad you think I fit into that category, then.”

“Of course you do.” Dagmar cupped one of Draco’s cheeks while kissing the other. “You’ve been working so hard too. You make me proud.”

“Thanks.” It felt good to hear. All the shame and concern that Draco had felt since his meeting with Snape earlier was replaced by something warmer.

“I was thinking,” Dagmar said before Draco had a chance to say anything about that, “my Astronomy classes let out at ten-forty-five on Tuesday and Thursday. What are your thoughts on staying the night in the Room of Requirement afterward? It’s not far from the Astronomy tower, and then only one of us has to get around all the portraits and everything.”

“My immediate reaction is to say yes,” Draco replied. “Could we get away with it?”

“My dorm-mates seem to have settled in, now that term is underway.” Dagmar shrugged. “I had to sneak in last evening because they were already asleep. All the homework and how hard classes have gotten have made Pansy, Millicent, and Daphne tap out early.”

Draco had noticed something similar in his dorm. He hadn’t bothered to be quiet when returning last night, and ended up accidentally waking Blaise for a moment. Blaise was so out of it that he didn’t remember come morning when Draco mentioned it during breakfast.

“We could try it out,” Draco decided—not that it was a hard decision to make. “But if anyone asks about it, we ought to reevaluate.”

“I hope they don’t.” Dagmar nuzzled his shoulder. “I miss sleeping with you every night. My bed is so lonely.”

Draco felt the same about his. Just the thought of returning to it tonight made him hold Dagmar a little tighter.

“Oh, before we head off. . .” With that, Draco recounted everything he and Snape had talked about earlier. Dagmar’s demeanour changed from doting to serious, although Draco felt better to get it all off his chest. She hummed thoughtfully at the end of it.

“I don’t really know what to think,” Draco said. “I’ve always been able to trust him, and I believe him when he says he never told my parents about my plans to go into dragonology. My mum would’ve had kittens if she knew I wanted to work with something so dangerous. She would’ve tried to convince me out of it by now.”

Dagmar chuckled mirthlessly. “Do you think that trust goes so far as to include anything to do with the Death Eaters?”

“That, I’m not so sure about.” Draco’s gaze flicked away before returning to her. “I’m not going to risk it. I don’t really need his help for anything beyond getting my applications out. I don’t think I even have to tell him where I got on. At that point, it’s between me and my potential employer.”

“I’m curious, then, what’s going on back home,” Dagmar replied. “Your father must have told your mum about what happened. I don’t think she’d let him get away with a ‘just because’ type answer on why he hit you. Do you think that’s why she sent you the sweets? As apology, or just to reach out?”

“She always sends me sweets.” Draco shrugged. “Why would she owe me an apology, anyway? I’m not holding my breath for my father to say anything about it.”

“He might be too proud to, even if he regrets it.”

“Exactly.”

* * *

Harry left Dumbledore’s office Friday feeling no less frustrated than the last. Although plenty had happened over the week, not a whole lot had changed. Luca turned out to be a good student, a little ahead of the curve in places where Durmstrang curriculum taught more advanced topics earlier than Hogwarts. Theodore Nott had little to no interest beyond Daphne Greengrass and bumming around with his mates, Crabbe and Goyle were rarely seen outside class (Harry followed them once after lunch back to the Slytherin common room), Malfoy was on perfect behaviour, and Ramstad was as strait-laced as ever.

“Just forget about it for a while,” Hermione suggested to Harry as they headed downward in the castle. “If anything’s going to happen here, clearly it’s not a primary concern for who might be responsible. They have schoolwork too.”

“Yeah.”

Harry could at least agree to that. After the first time he’d spent an evening spying on Malfoy and Ramstad, he couldn’t find time to justify it again without falling behind in the work he needed to do to ensure his acceptance as an Auror. It wasn’t off the table completely, but Harry had four other students he wouldn’t mind the chance to eavesdrop on. He’d made a habit of regularly carrying his invisibility cloak with him just in case an opportunity arose.

The three of them carried on out of the castle’s front doors. Hagrid had invited them down for tea once his last lesson for the week ended. Until Harry glimpsed a couple members of Hagrid’s NEWT class, he forgot that would include both Malfoy and Luca. To Harry’s annoyance, they were both caught up in the spirit of Friday afternoon, speaking loudly and quickly about Quidditch tryouts the next day. It figured that Malfoy would be asking his mates to join the team.

Ron glimpsed Hagrid and Fang still over by the old dragon paddock, so they passed the cabin by. Hagrid greeted the three of them with a wave.

“Good ter see yeh,” he called when they got close enough. Fang gambolled over, jowls and ears flopping. “How was yer week?”

“Okay,” Harry answered. “What’re you doing?”

“Jus’ makin’ sure this enclosure has no way fer the firedrakes to escape once they’re born.” Hagrid beamed. “We should be expectin’ ‘em by Wednesday, I think. The eggs’re startin’ to rock around in the bucket.”

Hagrid slid the door open for them. It was dark away from the centre, where a cone made of chicken wire rose up. The smoke from the fire escaped through it.

“Come look, yeh kin see best in this kind of light,” Hagrid told them.

Sure enough, the eggs basically glowed from the heat they’d absorbed. Harry could even discern details in the firedrakes’ faces if they came close enough to the edge. He could’ve swore he saw an eye.

“ _How_ big do they get?” Hermione asked.

“No longer’n a yard ’til they’re a year old or so, although females’re a bit larger,” Hagrid said. “These’re all males, yeh kin tell by there not bein’ a dot at the toppa the shell. We didn’ need ‘em breeding in the spring, or the males competin’ for mates.”

“What’re you doing with them at the end of the year?” Ron asked. “Surely they can’t stay here.”

“Nah, the Ministry won’t let ‘em,” Hagrid replied. “They gotta go next summer. Abraham Grimblehawk—maybe yeh know ‘im, heads the beast division o’ the Magical Creature Department—made an agreement with the same department up in Norway. The dragon reserve there’s gonna take ‘em and find ‘em proper places ta live.”

Harry could see that this disappointed Hagrid immensely. Surely he would’ve loved instead to add them to the wealth of game currently living in the Forbidden Forest. Given their nature, though, Harry could also see how the firedrakes might disrupt its biosphere.

Hagrid put the eggs back in the fire so they could all head to his cabin. He went straight to the kettle to get it going, as well as put out some mini treacle tart pies he’d made the night before. Harry figured he was still well-off enough from lunch, but he took one anyway to be polite.

“So how’s those meetings with Dumbledore goin’?” Hagrid asked. “I’d come meself if I didn’ have a lesson at the time.”

“They’re okay.” Harry shrugged. “Kinda wish something would happen. Kinda glad it hasn’t. This waiting is killing me.”

“I bet it is.” Hagrid nodded. “Ain’t usual fer You-Know-Who ter be quiet fer so long, but who knows? Maybe after he couldn’ even get inter the Ministry without the lot of yeh interferin’, he took the time now ter step back and reevaluate.”

“That’s what everyone else thinks.” Harry’s fist dug into his cheek. “Maybe nothing will happen this year. I might be working at the Ministry next time I deal with him, so long as I get on.”

“Wouldn’ be the worst thing in the world.” Hagrid’s black eyes glinted, thanks to his warm smile. “Yeh’ll know a lot more by then, and yeh’ll be surrounded by other Aurors. You-Know-Who would be hard-pressed ter get ter yeh then, on his own terms.”

“That’s why I thought he’d try something before I’m out of school,” Harry said.

“What about them kids yer all watchin’?”

Harry shrugged. “Nothing really to say. Nott’s all about his girlfriend right now, Crabbe and Goyle are as surly as ever but not up to anything, Snape dropped a bombshell today that Malfoy doesn’t even plan on being in the country after this year, and Ramstad probably spends more time studying than not.”

“What’s Malfoy leavin’ the country fer?”

“Snape wouldn’t say.” Harry still thought that was stupid of Snape to keep it from the Order, despite his hope it might inspire Malfoy to trust him with other things. “Learned he got his black eye from his dad, though.”

Hagrid’s eyebrows rose. “Never took Lucius as the type ter hit his kid like that.”

“Snape says Malfoy told his dad he didn’t plan on joining the Death Eaters,” Ron spoke up with the same kind of scoff he’d let out when Snape said it earlier. “A likely story.”

“I’m inclined to believe Malfoy meant it,” Hermione said. “Snape said Malfoy wouldn’t talk to him about it. As far as Malfoy knows, Snape is a Death Eater. He wouldn’t want to confirm his decision to one. Malfoy just talked to Snape about leaving the country, which is the sensible thing to do if he wants to steer clear.”

“I’m not believing anything Snape has to say about it,” Ron breezily replied. “Dumbledore might take him at his word, but I want to know what Malfoy’s up to before I make my own decision. For all we know, Malfoy is leaving on behalf of You-Know-Who to expand his sphere of influence. He might just have to squeak through Hogwarts before he can get on with what he _really_ wants to do.”

“That doesn’t explain his black eye. You also have yet to answer me on when Malfoy ever seemed like a follower.” Hermione’s tone grew sharp with the waning of her patience. “And I don’t mean of You-Know-Who’s. He’s always been the ringleader in that little group of Slytherins he’s a part of. He’s Captain of their Quidditch team. He’s even ahead of me in Potions right now, as Snape was so kind to remind us again up in Dumbledore’s office.”

“Do you really think that’s by any effort of his own?” Ron replied. “Snape’s always favoured him like that. The only reason he’s probably in our Potions class is because he slipped in after OWLs with Slughorn.”

“So did you and Harry, in that case.”

Ron just waved her off. “Better look out with all the Malfoy sympathizing, or people might wonder if you’re looking to fill in where Parkinson left off.”

Harry ducked his face into the elbow of his jacket to hide his laughter, not at what Ron had said, but the mixed expression of fury and disgust on Hermione’s face.

“Just because I have an open mind about what he might be up to does not in any capacity mean I _fancy_ him!”

“Aren’t yeh still with that Viktor Krum?” Hagrid interjected.

“ _Yes_.” Hermione turned narrowed eyes back on Ron. “Which is another great point.”

“I never said _I_ might suspect that,” Ron said. “I said people might in general.”

“People like who, Ron? It’s only you, me, and Harry that know about all this stuff.”

“Okay guys, that’s enough,” Harry said to shut them down. “Hermione doesn’t fancy Malfoy, so let’s just drop it. Nobody needs to prove anything.”

“Thank you,” Hermione snipped before sipping her tea. “Honestly, I’m starting to wonder if You-Know-Who isn’t just playing head games with us. He might suspect, after all the times we’ve run into him, that we’ll be tearing our hair out trying to anticipate his next move. Also, when I think about it, he _has_ gone quiet like this before. We didn’t exactly deal with him when the Chamber of Secrets was opened. Everyone thought Sirius was on his side, but of course that wasn’t true. You-Know-Who waited until the very end of the Triwizard Tournament to get after Harry again. That was three years after we kept him from getting Flamel’s stone. He might be doing that again, reassessing his next move. He must be aware that, so long as Harry is here with Dumbledore, he remains protected.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Harry agreed, staring into his tea. “I still don’t want to reach that conclusion, especially when we’ve only been back for two weeks.”

“Of course not,” Hermione said. “We keep our eyes open. We keep our minds open, _Ron_. Maybe we won’t find anything distinctly working against us, but we might find something else. For example, if Malfoy is on the outs with his father or You-Know-Who, he might not have any choice about just running away. Think about how useful someone like him could be.”


	12. A Weekend of Quidditch

Draco woke up early on Saturday morning, even though he didn’t have the Quidditch pitch booked until eleven. While discussion of tryouts had dwindled briefly amongst the house, they grew back up in volume as the week came to a close. Draco hoped for a good turnout. If he only had the same small group of contenders that tried out last year to pick from, this might not go as well as he’d hoped.

At ten-thirty, Draco left the dorm. What students there were in the common room hushed when Draco passed through. Undoubtedly, there would already be some that had made their way along to the pitch as well. Even for those that weren’t as big into the game as the ones vying to get onto the team, coming to watch was something to do on a Saturday. It didn’t hurt that it was another beautiful autumn day outside.

Slytherin wasn’t the only house to show up, Draco saw when he left the change room with his Firebolt. The stands were dotted with groups of students, and Draco was certain that Potter, Li, and Smith were all here on behalf of their own houses to get a gauge on Slytherin’s potential. Draco would be annoyed if he didn’t intend to do the exact same thing in turn throughout the weekend.

His concern was more on the members of his house currently standing on the field. A wave of silence passed through them all as they noticed his arrival. Perhaps Draco’s uniform had the intended effect: it was a direct reminder of what was at stake.

“Good morning,” he briskly greeted them. “If I could have everyone trying for Chaser in front of me, Beaters to my left, and Keepers to my right, we’ll get started.”

The crowd separated as directed. The Chasers were the majority, maybe about thirty of them. There were twelve here for the Beater positions, and a handful for Keeper. Draco broke the Chasers into groups of three, and numbered them off one through ten. He did the same with the Beaters, numbering them in pairs one through six, and each Keeper took a number between one and five. Some people looked surprised he told teams one and two to get into the air. With that, the bludgers were released and Draco threw the quaffle up in between the centre Chasers.

Draco looked first and foremost at this point for flying ability, but he tried not to let that eliminate someone in his mind right off the bat. He could work with a shaky flyer if they showed promise otherwise. He also didn’t want to mentally cross someone off just for being young. He himself had only been twelve when he joined this team. While compared to now he certainly wasn’t the best player, he hadn’t been terrible.

All that in mind, he didn’t see anything too particularly promising in the first Chaser lines. A lot of quaffle fumbles, which could’ve just been from nerves, but Draco was surprised to see that Milly held her own as a Beater. She’d tried out in years past, but not last fall, if Draco recalled correctly. He didn’t remember seeing her.

Five minutes were up fast. Draco blew his whistle to get everyone to stop, not that they had gotten very far. The hopeful Keepers, Astoria Greengrass and another kid Draco didn’t know the name of, didn’t even get a chance to show their abilities.

As Draco moved through the groups, alternating here and there, and then scrambling teams up when he thought one player might work better with another, some promising talent started to emerge. Blaise and Luca, since they’d been standing together in the Chasers crowd, wound up on the same line. Blaise had retained his skill from the previous year, and Draco had seemed to impress on him deeply enough that them being mates wouldn’t be enough to guarantee him a spot. Luca similarly gave it his all. The third on their line, a fifth-year, basically went forgotten as Blaise and Luca deked through their opposing Chasers and landed the first goal of the day on a feinted pass. Draco looked away when Blaise’s gaze found him, assuming a passive expression. He didn’t want Blaise to get too comfortable yet.

The noon sun rose higher in the sky. Draco increasingly needed to shield his eyes as the clouds dispersed. He ended up floating higher on his broom so that he could put the sun somewhat behind him. The new vantage point changed the way Draco thought, too. He split Blaise and Luca up, and was satisfied to see that both still did well enough on their own. Blaise was thrown some bad quaffles, making him dive once or twice to recover them, but he came back quickly. Luca was more of a team player. He and a fourth-year girl got into a good rhythm with each other. The next time Draco switched up Blaise and Luca, he put them on a team with her. They managed to score like that quite easily against every Keeper but one.

Coming up close to two o’clock, the length of time they’d been at this was starting to wear everyone down. Draco himself was sweating under the heat of the sun. He only had the pitch until three, anyway. With a final blow of his whistle, he waved everyone down to the ground. There were more than a few shaky pairs of legs, Draco’s included.

“I’ve seen enough,” he told them all. “I’ll have the results posted in the common room by the end of the weekend.”

Draco headed toward the pitch exit. He was quickly caught up to by Blaise, Luca, and Theo.

“Well?” Theo said. “What’d you think?”

Draco just shrugged. “Haven’t had much chance to do that yet.”

Theo nudged him. “No hints?”

“None.”

Blaise raised an eyebrow. “You’re taking it so seriously.”

“I told you, I want that Cup this year,” Draco said. “We’ve never had it while we’ve been here. It’s time to break our losing streak.”

“Yeah, I can agree with that,” Blaise replied. “I won’t lie, I hope I can get in on it. I think I did good.”

Draco was leaning toward Blaise and Luca being his first two Chasers, but he wanted time to try and separate himself from his friendship with them before saying for sure. No doubt everyone would say they got in on those merits either way, which maybe wasn’t the worst thing in the world. The Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, and Ravenclaw teams would think that the Slytherins were operating on a business-as-usual basis.

Draco changed back into his clothes and headed up to the castle. He wanted a quick bite to eat before heading back out to the pitch to watch the Ravenclaws. Theo, Blaise, and Luca had beat him there. Daphne caught up, as had Dagmar. Draco finally let himself feel something toward Dagmar today, having tried his hardest not to be distracted by her presence in the stands.

“I think there’s a good team somewhere in there,” Daphne said excitedly. “We might have a solid chance this year.”

“That’s the idea,” Draco said as he took a seat. “We’ll see how the Ravenclaws are looking.”

“Ooh, you’re going to watch?” Daphne’s eyes lit back up. “I guess we’ll be coming along. You?”

She turned to Dagmar, who’d been quietly chewing her lunch while the rest of them talked. When nobody else said anything, she looked up. “Oh, sorry. Were you talking to me?”

“Yeah, you should come!”

Dagmar didn’t have homework to do, as far as Draco remembered. They’d both put their noses to the grindstone this week in attempt to get as much done as possible, so that Draco could dedicate his full weekend to this.

“Yeah, come,” Blaise told her. “It doesn’t hurt you to get out of the library once in a while, does it?”

Dagmar smiled, perhaps flattered that any of them would even care enough to ask. Draco did his own part in convincing her by resting his foot against hers under the table. Although she avoided his gaze, Draco noticed Dagmar’s smile broaden just slightly more.

“Ja, sure,” she decided.

With that, as three o’clock neared, the six of them rose from the Slytherin table and migrated toward the Quidditch pitch. Theo and Daphne walked ahead of Draco, their fingers habitually entwining. Draco suppressed a pang of regret that he and Dagmar couldn’t do the same. They at least got to walk together. Maybe Blaise had done it on purpose, but he and Luca took the head of their group.

“Suddenly interested in Quidditch, are you?” Draco asked Dagmar with a subtle wink.

She shrugged, hands in her trouser pockets. “I wasn’t expecting an invite beyond our own house’s tryouts.”

“Tryouts aren’t as fun to watch as games, though.”

“So?” Since nobody paid them mind, Dagmar took a heavier step in Draco’s direction and nudged him with her shoulder. “Maybe I just want to be involved.”

Draco liked that she did. The one drawback to dedicating this weekend toward extracurricular activities was that Draco’s didn’t overlap with Dagmar’s. He’d been pleasantly surprised so far—not just this weekend, but ever since they returned to Hogwarts—how much their paths could naturally cross. The way Draco saw it when he tried to look objectively at himself and Dagmar from their peers’ point of view, it seemed clear to him that, even without their arranged marriage pulling strings in the background, they might gravitate toward each other anyway.

The Ravenclaw hopefuls were just gathering on the pitch as Draco and his friends headed up into the stands. He would’ve liked to keep sitting beside Dagmar, but she wound up beside Daphne in front of Draco.

The two of them would end the weekend off by spending another night in the Room of Requirement. The prospect of that on top of no homework, Quidditch, and spending the weekend with his mates made it even harder for Draco not to reach out for Dagmar in front of him. Draco took a deep breath, shoved his hands into his pockets, and turned his gaze skyward. The Ravenclaws had started.

* * *

Dagmar’s bum was starting to hurt from sitting so long by the time Ravenclaw’s tryouts wound down. All the boys discussed Quidditch on the way back up to the castle. Dagmar walked with Daphne ahead of them.

Daphne glanced back over her shoulder before lowering her voice. “Hey, can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“What would you think if Malfoy fancied you?”

“Er. . .”

There wasn’t even a reason for Dagmar’s face to grow warm. She knew Draco far more than fancied her, although she wondered just what she or Draco might have given away.

“Don’t worry, he didn’t say anything about it, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Daphne quickly told her. “I just think you two get on so nicely. Nobody can deny Malfoy’s been easier to be around this year, and it doesn’t seem like you mind him either.”

“I don’t mind him,” Dagmar carefully answered.

“And he’s not exactly hard to look at either, is he?”

Dagmar laughed when Daphne nudged her with her elbow. She still wasn’t sure what all she could or even should say.

“Think about it, anyway,” Daphne told her. “I don’t want to make things weird or awkward between you, but I think he’d see things the same way if you let him.”

“. . .Right.”

Daphne let the topic drop, since Pansy and Millicent had found them. Pansy was already put out that she hadn’t been invited along to the Ravenclaw tryouts. Mention from Daphne she hadn’t thought Pansy would want to come because Draco was with them left Dagmar, Daphne, and Millicent making quiet eye contact when Pansy turned with a huff into the Great Hall.

“So I suppose Draco’s more fun to hang out with than me, is he?” Pansy snipped when they all sat down.

It was Daphne’s turn to develop some colour in her cheeks. “Erm, no, I was just going along with Theo, and Malfoy happened to be with us.”

“No offence,” Millicent spoke up, “but I could easily see Malfoy as more fun to be around than you right now. You’ve been something else so far, this year.”

Dagmar caught Daphne’s eye again before they both averted their gazes to their plates.

“You only like him right now because you feel like he gave you a shot in the Quidditch tryouts,” Pansy coolly replied. “We’ll see how you feel when the roster goes up and your name isn’t on it. There hasn’t ever been a girl on the Slytherin team, at least not as long as _I’ve_ been around.”

“And just what are you going to do if it _is_ on there?” Millicent asked as she stabbed a sausage with her fork. “Die of jealousy because someone might get close to your precious Drakie-Poo?”

Although Pansy’s expression didn’t change, her eyes lost any kind of light to them. Heat radiated beneath her skin. Millicent didn’t seem to notice, but, if she did, she didn’t care. What she and Daphne couldn’t see was Pansy’s internal struggle between that lingering jealousy and her narrative that she dumped Draco. Pansy had taken great delight in telling Millicent and Daphne exactly what Draco had given her permission to do, that he had begged and cried to the point of tossing his guts that she not leave him. She couldn’t go back on that now.

“You’re more than welcome to him,” Pansy ground out, her voice slightly shaking, “if he’d have you. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“Like I want your leftovers anyway,” Millicent said. “I just want on the team. He seems dead-set this year on getting that Cup, and playing would be a nice break from all the homework we’ve been getting.”

“You’ll have to get in shape.”

“I’m in better shape than you.”

Pansy scoffed, either in disbelief or merely wanting to imply that. Dagmar figured the latter, since Millicent wasn’t exactly overweight. Maybe she had a little bit of a belly on her, but no more than Dagmar did, and Dagmar certainly didn’t consider herself out of shape. Millicent just wasn’t slim and built small like Pansy was, which seemed to be Pansy’s measure of acceptability.

“Well _I_ think you did really well in the tryouts,” Daphne told Millicent. “If you don’t get on the team, it won’t be because you didn’t play good enough.”

Millicent’s low facial features rose up into a smile. “Thanks. Your sister did really well too. I didn’t even know Astoria played.”

“She likes to at home, but she’s never bothered to try out here.” Daphne beamed. “It did always seem like a boy’s club, didn’t it? I really hope Malfoy _does_ change it up. I mean, really, Astoria was the only Keeper that didn’t let anything through. Maybe I’m biased because she’s my sister, but Malfoy would be a prat not to bring her on. She proved herself.”

Even all through dinner, Dagmar noticed people who had tried out would go up to Draco to talk to him. Dagmar was borderline endeared by his apparent growing annoyance by it, and even more so when Draco never snapped at anybody for bothering him. It was certainly different to see Draco as approachable. Dagmar still struggled with that in a public setting.

She had to keep herself in check all evening from looking at him, which was made easier by keeping Pansy, Millicent, and Daphne as company. While Millicent probably wouldn’t care if she caught Dagmar, Pansy certainly would. Daphne had ideas about Dagmar and Draco making a good prospective couple, so the least Dagmar encouraged that—for now—the better.

In anticipation of having a late night together in the Room of Requirement come Sunday, Dagmar opted to venture down to the Quidditch field that morning with Draco’s gang to watch Gryffindor at eleven, but skip Hufflepuff later for a kip. She wound up staying in the dorm afterward, unable to justify not studying at all this weekend.

She headed down to the Great Hall for dinner. Had there been any space near where Draco sat with Blaise, Luca, Theodore, and Daphne, she would’ve joined them under the guise on getting the scoop on Hufflepuff. Instead, Dagmar was waved over by Pansy. Millicent sat with her, hardly touching her kidney pie and glancing frequently in Draco’s direction.

“Nervous?” Dagmar asked her.

Millicent nodded. “Word came around he’s made his decision after seeing what the other houses have for talent. He’s going to post the team roster at nine.”

“Only a couple more hours of torture, then.”

Millicent managed a laugh, however strained. Pansy just sniffed in disapproval. Dagmar didn’t even know why she involved herself with everyone else this weekend. She’d been nothing but miserable, although Dagmar supposed that was pretty normal.

There was only so much Dagmar could put up with her, so she ended up heading to the library after supper. Hermione happened to be there too, double-checking some facts in panic for the assignment they would hand in first thing tomorrow to Professor Sprout. Once she’d modified what she needed to, she became calm company. The library was otherwise deserted.

Dagmar headed back to the Slytherin common room earlier than usual, arriving shortly before nine. The common room was packed. Dagmar weaved her way through all the bodies. Draco was nowhere in sight, but that didn’t surprise Dagmar. He was probably up in his dorm, attempting to escape the pressure of a hundred pairs of eyes.

The other three girls were in the dorm. Pansy had her curtain shut, either pretending to sleep or just over everything to do with this. Millicent switched regularly from sitting on her bed to looking out the dorm door to see if anything had changed yet. She’d sigh and sit back down.

While Pansy’s view was blocked and Daphne was more focused on distracting Millicent, Dagmar packed her bag for the night. Curtain closed, she wrote Draco a short note that she would probably use the distraction of him announcing the team to slip out. She told him not to rush if he wished to celebrate.

Millicent left the dorm, unable to take it anymore. The general murmur from the common room fell silent at one point, which was when Dagmar figured Draco showed himself and headed for the noticeboard with his roster. A hubbub of racket followed. Dagmar took that as a good time to depart, closing her bed’s curtains so it would look like she’d just tucked in early. Everyone in the common room was so focused on each other that they didn’t notice Dagmar brushing past them. Dagmar glimpsed Millicent, Daphne, and Astoria standing together, all grins, and while Dagmar wanted to dip in to offer her congratulations, she also didn’t want to get stuck.

The castle was deserted. Dagmar’s footsteps echoed through the corridors until she reached the equally-empty hallway outside the Room of Requirement. A moment later, she stood inside the Hogwarts equivalent of Draco’s bedroom. Because she’d wanted a bath, a bigger one than Draco had at Malfoy Manor made itself available to her.

Dagmar checked her messenger afterward for a reply from Draco. She wasn’t surprised to see he hadn’t responded yet, since she figured he would be busy until at least the final curfew. Dagmar jumped when, shortly after ten-thirty, Draco’s signature knock sounded at the door. She registered it sounded different, maybe impatient, but didn’t really think much of it until she opened the door.

The smile slipped off her face as Draco stepped in. “What’s wrong?”

He was tense, his lips pressed and cheeks pink. He came empty-handed too.

“Just had the row to end all rows,” Draco huffed. “Told everyone I was taking a walk to cool off, but I don’t think I’m going back. Not tonight.”

“Who with?” Dagmar approached where Draco stood with his hands on his hips. “About what?”

“Theo.” Draco rolled his eyes. “Who knew someone could be so bloody sour about not making it onto a team? Absolute prat, that one.”

“Was he even trying?” Dagmar furrowed her brow, confused. “I mean, we saw him at tryouts, but it looked more like he was just there for the fun of it. Daphne didn’t say anything, either.”

“Apparently that was just a formality.” Draco dropped down onto the bed. “If he didn’t show up, I couldn’t put him on the team. Can you believe that? After all the times I told Blaise he needs to earn his way, that never sunk in with Theo. What a git. He’s even insulted that Mafalda Prewett got third Chaser.”

“Mafalda Prewett,” Dagmar repeated the name, but she wasn’t sure she knew her.

“Fourth-year, little red-headed thing,” Draco said, which jogged Dagmar’s memory. She’d seen Mafalda’s tryout, and how she had fared well when placed alongside Blaise and Luca on a line. “She flew good. She played well. But wouldn’t you know, absolutely _none_ of that should matter, according to Theo. I kept pushing him on why it offended him so much, and of course it’s because she’s a half-blood. And apparently someone by default is a bad Quidditch player if the half-blood part comes from having a Squib for a parent. Who knew?”

Draco threw his hands up in exasperation.

“So what’d you tell him?” Dagmar asked.

“To sit and spin, first of all, and that if someone with a Squib and a Muggle for parents was better at Quidditch, then what did it say about _him?_ ” Draco managed to calm down as the ghost of a smirk came over him. “He didn’t like that.”

“I’m sure he didn’t.” Dagmar sat down beside Draco. “A hard lesson, but one that might serve him well. You were more than clear you were looking for talent this year, not your mates.”

“Yeah,” Draco sighed. “Bloody hell, how can someone be so entitled? I admit I might be a cauldron calling the kettle black, but _fuck_.”

Dagmar snorted. It wasn’t often she heard Draco use such a rude curse, at least outside the bedroom. Her amusement helped Draco calm down rather than further wind him up, which was good. He seemed quite congenial in how he looked at Dagmar while pushing some of her damp hair off her shoulder.

“I had a feeling you’d get it,” he said. “You must be a saint of patience if that’s what it was like dealing with me.”

“I don’t think you were that bad.” Dagmar slid up closer so that their thighs pressed. “I never got that mad, and we certainly never rowed.”

“No.”

Draco’s fingertips started their slow wander upward from Dagmar’s knee. The heat it introduced to Dagmar’s blood wasn’t unusual, but it came on strong since Draco’s passion was already showing. The last of his indignation melted away when their gazes met.

His irritation was still somewhere in there, judging by how bent he was to exercise it out. Draco held Dagmar tight around her waist after she straddled him, his breath already short. Although Dagmar was content to stay on top, his will for dominance won out. He made Dagmar’s yield to him more than worth it. Her hips hurt in the best way possible after Draco was finished, and her toes curled anew when he kept on with his fingers while Dagmar helped herself along. A blush crept up over her cheeks as he watched her tremble her way to the same end.

Dagmar’s heart was still pounding when Draco wrapped her up in his arms. If they weren’t snogging, Dagmar couldn’t help but grin. Draco finally gave her one in return when she ran her thumb over his cheek.

“I know I say it a lot, but I’m proud of you,” she told him. “You made the right choice about how you put the team together. I hope you don’t doubt that if there’s more blowback than Theodore.”

“I won’t,” Draco replied. “And I don’t know why you’d apologize for saying you’re proud of me. I love hearing it. I love seeing it.”

“Seeing it?”

“The way you look at me.”

Dagmar just smiled and shrugged. Other than when she consciously held back in a public space, she couldn’t control how she regarded him. It pleased her that it was a positive thing for Draco.

“I love it too,” she said. “It makes up for when we have to pretend nothing like that exists.”

“Yeah.” Draco’s cheek pulled sideways. “It’ll be nice when we don’t have to worry about that anymore.”

Dagmar slid a leg over Draco’s hips. She’d spent an ample amount of time after her bath applying and reapplying lotion so that she was as soft as possible by the time Draco made his way up. Although he hadn’t mentioned it, Draco certainly noticed, judging by the way he touched her. He enjoyed it again now, his fingertips so light on Dagmar’s thigh that bumps rose in their wake.

“It’s going well so far, I think,” Dagmar said. “Daphne’s trying to put a bug in my ear about fancying you.”

Draco exhaled in place of laughter. “What do you mean?”

“On our way back up after watching Ravenclaw yesterday, she asked what I’d think if you fancied me—‘not that he said he does, I don’t want to make things awkward’,” Dagmar mimicked the quick, chirpy way Daphne spoke, making Draco snort, “but apparently we’d make a good couple.”

“Well, fancy that.”


	13. Genesis

Draco’s day started well enough, when he first opened his eyes. At some point in slumber, Dagmar had gotten warm. She rolled onto her back and pushed the blanket down to her sternum. Laying beside her, it took every ounce of self-control for Draco not to poke the closer of her breasts and watch it settle back into place.

Dagmar ended Draco’s idle gaze by pulling the covers back up as she roused. A laugh interrupted her yawn when Draco reached under anyway to finally cup one.

He couldn’t stay. He’d left all his stuff back at the dorm, and now a new concern came over Draco as he redressed in the same clothes he’d arrived in. He probably smelled like sex. Draco certainly looked to himself in the mirror like that was what he’d been up to last night. He tried to flatten his hair. It was no use.

“Hey.” Draco popped into the bathroom where Dagmar braided her hair into a plait in front of the mirror. “I’ll see you in class.”

Dagmar held her braid in place while they kissed. “Elsker deg.”

“Elsker deg også,” Draco clumsily replied, but Dagmar smiled regardless.

Blaise, Theo, Crabbe, and Goyle were all still in the dorm. Draco had hoped to find it empty, but he knew it was too early yet for everyone to have migrated out. Avoiding eye contact with any of them, Draco headed straight into the bathroom for a shower.

Theo, Crabbe, and Goyle had all made themselves scarce by the time Draco reemerged. Blaise remained, sitting up against the pillows on his bed.

“All right?” he asked.

Draco pulled his curtain shut. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You never came back last night.”

“No.” Draco dried himself off more thoroughly with his towel before tossing it onto his trunk. He pulled on a fresh pair of pants.

“Still mad at Theo?”

“I don’t know if I care enough, honestly.” Draco hopped into trousers next. “It’s not like I’m going to change my mind. He can pout all he wants about it. Is that what he’s doing?”

“What do _you_ think?”

Since he was decent enough, Draco opened his curtain again. Blaise had shifted, seated now on the edge of his bed. He leaned forward over his knees.

“He’ll remember this on his deathbed, is what _I_ think,” Draco said as he pulled on his shirt and flipped the collar out. “You’re not here to tell me you agree with him, are you?”

“No,” Blaise quickly answered. “Theo didn’t even try.”

“At least he eventually admitted that.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t back down, honestly.” Blaise leaned back on his hands. “Did you know about Prewett’s blood status? You didn’t just pick her because Prewetts are one of the Twenty-Eight?”

“I picked her because she was the best choice,” Draco replied, working on buttoning his shirt. “I didn’t know about her parents, no. Does it matter?”

“It used to, for you.”

Draco opened his trunk again, searching for his tie. “You can stop saying things like that, you know. People change. _Things_ change. It’s not always worth a discussion.”

“ _I_ think it is,” Blaise said. “It personally affects me, right now. If you spent the night thinking no, Theo doesn’t belong on the team, but he has a point that someone like Prewett isn’t worthy of representing this house, I need to know. I want to play with her, and I’m sure if you ask Luca, he’d say the same.”

“You don’t need to worry. My decisions were final.”

“Okay.” Blaise paused. “Because you’re my mate too, I’m trying to keep track of where exactly your compass is. I’m starting to think your decision not to be a Death Eater runs deeper than not wanting to become You-Know-Who’s indentured servant.”

“Saturday proved a point, didn’t it? Yeah, I think most of us are pureblooded on the team, but that’s just the pickings from Slytherin.”

“Mhm,” Blaise agreed behind Draco’s back as he picked up his jumper to pull on. “I’ve thought it was irrelevant for a while, myself.”

Draco’s brow furrowed. When his jumper was in place, he looked back at Blaise to assess how serious he was. This was one of those situations where he made himself hard to read, but Blaise at least didn’t seem to care what Draco’s opinion on that would be.

“News to me,” he said.

Blaise shrugged. “Why would I have ever told you that if you thought otherwise? Especially if you were heading for the Death Eaters. These aren’t good days to be labelled a blood traitor.”

“No.” Draco slowed in fixing his prefect badge to his jumper. “Haven’t really thought of myself as one yet.”

“Because there’s really no such thing,” Blaise said. “It’s all made up.”

“Still, you’re right. It’s not a good label right now.”

“I hope that doesn’t make you reconsider things.”

“No,” Draco answered right away. “No going back.”

Blaise stood up to gather his things for class when Draco had finally caught up to his level of readiness. “I’m surprised Dagmar didn’t tell you my thoughts on the matter, actually. I would’ve thought she’d like the idea of you coming back to Hogwarts knowing it was more than just the two of you in this boat.”

“Must not have occurred to her.”

Draco hesitated to say more. He and Blaise hadn’t talked about their shared history with Dagmar yet. It was a little hard on Draco’s part to believe that Blaise was okay, regardless of Dagmar’s insistence and Blaise’s decent behaviour otherwise. How casually she came up made Draco tentatively hopeful it wouldn’t yet drive a wedge between them.

A thought occurred to Draco from his own experience as he and Blaise stepped out into the dungeon corridor. “I guess Dagmar wouldn’t have liked you very much if you believed that.”

“And I wouldn’t have liked most of the company she keeps.”

“Well, lately she seems to be sticking pretty close to home,” Draco replied. “She still spends a lot of time with Granger, but mostly with other Slytherins.”

“Staying close to _you_ , I thought.”

Draco shook his head. “Things are just different this year. Dagmar never really fit in because Pansy wouldn’t let her. But now Pansy’s clinging to her, and because Pansy’s being so nasty otherwise, Milly and Daphne are apparently getting sick of her.”

“Took long enough, honestly. I know Pansy’s a sensitive topic because you’re still fresh out of that, but she was never really exactly pleasant.”

“Dagmar’s been hanging out with Milly and Daphne more, because of it. You know, when Daphne isn’t attached to Theo.”

“Jealous?”

Draco didn’t even have to look at Blaise to know he was smirking. “You’ve no idea.”

As nice it was to finally speak openly to someone other than Dagmar about such a big part of his life, Draco couldn’t help but worry this stasis with Blaise could be easily upended if he didn’t proceed with caution.

“Look.” Draco scratched his neck. “I can’t pretend like I don’t know about what things ending was like for you. I wouldn’t have been happy either. Dagmar said you seem pretty all right about the whole thing, but I don’t really know where that line is.”

Blaise hummed. “I don’t know. Now I’ve had time to think about things a bit, I get where Dagmar was coming from with everything. I tried really hard after we met up in July to not look at it so selfishly. It wasn’t all about me. It was about her too. We were good at thinking like that when we were betrothed, but when she left, it was. . .I don’t know, I was reaching for what was familiar, and that would’ve been her in any other situation.”

As crucial that emotional connection was for Draco now, he couldn’t imagine suddenly losing it. His guilt reemerged in an ugly way to have done that to one of his best mates, whether he meant to or not.

“She deserves to be happy,” Blaise carried on. “Even if Dagmar just decided on her own it wasn’t for her, I wouldn’t have had much choice but to respect that. It does feel better now we’re back on speaking terms. Nothing’s changed between us, which, yeah, in a way is disappointing because I’m still quite fond of her. I’m trying to see it as that she wanted me to be free to find something like what she has now.”

“She does want that for you,” Draco replied. “You deserve it.”

“Yeah.”

Maybe until Blaise found that, there would still be a lingering sense of dejection. Draco figured enough had been said for now anyway, where both of them could acknowledge the situation while still making it clear they wanted to be mates. That had always been the most iffy thing for Draco, and right now he would be hard-pressed to say who at Hogwarts other than Blaise was his closest mate. It certainly wasn’t Theo.

Draco and Blaise were among the last to file into Greenhouse Seven. They headed for the station they’d shared since the beginning of the year with Theo and Daphne. Theo was still plainly sore about yesterday, refusing to look at Draco for longer than it took to narrow his eyes. He equally ignored Blaise’s presence. Daphne pressed her lips together and shrugged, silently conveying an apology for whatever awkwardness might come of this for the next couple of hours.

At least one of them had some sense, Draco thought.

* * *

Although Draco had earned his weekend off, a very slight pang of regret visited him for all the homework that waited for him Monday evening. Professor Sprout and Flitwick hadn’t been shy about piling just a little bit more on, and even Hagrid got in on it now that their firedrakes were mere days away from hatching. The questions he assigned were things Draco already knew. Other than taking a quarter-hour to write the answers out, he only had to dedicate the time necessary to check in on the eggs.

Luca found him in the library shortly before seven. “Were we still on?”

“Yeah.” Draco had forgotten about their agreement to head down together. He hesitated before standing, gaze to Dagmar. “Did you want to come for a walk? We shouldn’t be long, and I’m sure you’ve earned a break.”

“Sure.”

Dagmar agreed with little hesitation, which made Draco happy even if the cost was packing up all his work rather than leaving it to be babysat. When they got down to the paddock, Dagmar offered to hold Draco’s bag for him. She’d moved it to the ground by the time Draco and Luca reemerged from the enclosure.

“Did you want to come see them?” Draco asked. “They’re pretty visible through their shells.”

“I can hold your stuff if you like,” Luca offered.

Dagmar followed Draco toward the enclosure. Draco had a feeling that, like with Quidditch, Dagmar might be to some degree humouring him. So long as she didn’t outrightly dislike his interests, Draco wouldn’t worry about potentially testing her patience. He wished she could be as excited about them as he was.

Her face glowed in the light coming off the fire as she bent down to better see into the bucket. “They definitely look ready to hatch. Look at that one there.”

She pointed at one that was awake inside its egg, rubbing its muzzle against its front legs. Its eyes closed as it comforted itself, although opened briefly again when the fire loudly cracked.

“Hagrid wants us to try and be here when they hatch,” Draco said. “They’ve all gotten used to our voices and stuff, but the first couple days are crucial for them to bond with their primary handlers.”

“How’re they going to take separating from you when the time comes for them to be moved to Jotunheimen?”

“I’m just hoping I’ll go with them.” Draco bent down into a full squat to give his knees a rest. “We get to name them. I haven’t come up with one yet. I was thinking, Heimdall’s name comes from Norse mythology, right?”

“Oh, ja.” Dagmar’s eyes lit up. “Heimdall guards the bridge leading into Asgard.”

“Know any cool dragon names, by chance?”

Dagmar hummed while she thought. “Well, there are three figures that were thought to be like dragons in Norse mythos. Jormungandr is a serpent that was so long, it wrapped all the way around the world. Then there’s Fafnir. He wasn’t originally a dragon, but turned into one after being cursed because he killed his father. Then Nidhogg, who wrapped himself up in Yggdrasil’s roots and gnaws away at it. Historically there are a lot of negative connotations with his name, so I would be cautious using that one. If the names are going with them to Jotunheimen, it might raise some eyebrows.”

“Maybe I’ll avoid that one, then.”

Draco had at least managed to engage Dagmar by incorporating her interests with his, although she certainly didn’t seem bored or put off by the firedrakes. It was still on Draco’s mind when they made it back to the library.

“You don’t mind being drug along on things I like, right?” he addressed her in a whisper once they’d started again on their homework. “You don’t really have anything like Quidditch or the firedrakes to make it even.”

“I don’t mind.” Dagmar shrugged. “I like seeing how excited you get, and it’s not like they’re not interesting things.”

“I hope you don’t get bored, is all.”

“Not at all,” she reassured him with a smile. “I can find some value in them on my own. Quidditch for me is a social activity, and I like the strategy and competition. For the firedrakes, they’re something new to learn about. I’m sure they’ll be more interesting once they hatch.”

“Yeah,” Draco agreed. “Okay, I just wanted to be sure I wasn’t dragging you along against your will.”

“Nei, believe me, you’d know.” Dagmar held her jaw while regarding him. “If anyone should be worried, it’s me. I’m sure you haven’t found much excitement spending all this time with me in the library.”

“It helps me keep on track, on top of being an excuse to spend time with you. The payoffs are huge.”

On the few essays and pieces of homework they’d gotten back so far, Draco hadn’t earned anything less than an O. He didn’t expect that would always be the case, but he certainly felt as though he operated right now as an O-level student. He worked hard enough for it, and his attitude toward the knowledge he acquired was different. Usually he’d be content just to forget everything as soon as the homework was done, but Draco actively worked to retain it by rereading whatever the professors handed back.

The trend of holding Os carried on through the next day. Professor Parasca handed back the first essay she’d assigned them. On Wednesday, McGonagall did the same. Draco didn’t bother hiding how pleased he was by McGonagall bidding him ‘excellent effort, Mr. Malfoy’.

Draco’s heightened mood from that carried into his lunch break. Only one more class for the day separated him from the first Quidditch practice of the season. Draco had been looking forward to it ever since he posted the team roster Sunday night.

Mafalda Prewett was standing outside the doors leading into the Great Hall when Draco reached it with Blaise. She looked like she waited for someone. Draco was hard-pressed not to think it was him when they made eye contact.

“All right, Prewett?” he asked. Blaise stopped too.

“Er, yeah.” Her gaze darted quickly to the left. “Could I have a word?”

“I’ll save you a seat,” Blaise told Draco before heading on in.

Draco followed Prewett to a part of the Entrance Hall that didn’t have as much foot traffic. He hadn’t realized during tryouts just how little she was, practically an entire head shorter than him.

“What’s up?” he prompted her.

“I guess I just wanted to ask if you’d made a mistake by putting me on the team?” she spoke. “I’ve been hearing it a lot. I figured if you did, I could spare you having to boot me by backing out.”

Draco frowned. “Where did you hear that?”

“Just around.”

“It wasn’t something I said or even thought, if that’s the impression you got. I’m confident with my picks.”

“Okay.”

It didn’t seem to help Prewett feel any better, which made Draco mad all over again about Theo. Draco wanted to believe that Theo wouldn’t stoop low enough to bully a fourteen year old girl, so who else had made their discontent clear?

“Just ignore what they all say,” Draco told her. “To be honest, it’s something you’ll have to deal with anyway from the other houses trying to psyche us out before matches. It’s disappointing that it has to come from Slytherin too, but you’ll prove yourself if you keep playing like you did during tryouts.”

Prewett rubbed her upper arm. “And if I don’t. . .?”

“That’s what practice is for.” Draco offered a small smile in attempt to further restore her nerve. “We have fifteen for sure before we face Gryffindor, maybe more if we squeeze some extra ones in. Promise, you’ll do fine. We’ve all seen what you can do.”

Although Prewett couldn’t exactly return his smile when she tried, the stiffness in her shoulders had somewhat eased. “Sorry, I guess the pressure is already getting to me. I’m not used to getting so much attention, especially not bad attention.”

“Your skin’ll be thicker than dragon hide by the end of the year,” Draco said. “I know it’s easier said than done, but don’t let it get to you. You might feel better after tonight. We’ll all be a little shaky. Everyone but Blaise and I are new, and it’s not like we’ve had any practice either, for a while.”

“That’s true.” Prewett seemed to perk up. “Okay, I’ll see you at five, then.”

She bounced off for the Great Hall, dropping down at the Slytherin table with some other girls in her year. Draco passed her by to sit with Blaise, who’d wound up (to his immense satisfaction) sitting with Dagmar, as well as Milly and Luca.

Blaise pointed his jaw down the table toward Prewett. “What was that about?”

“Just having some doubts.” Draco raised his voice so that Theo, sitting about ten feet away, would catch his name. “I guess it’s more than just Theo acting like a right twat about her being on the team.”

Theo’s eyes narrowed and a sneer came over him. He pointed his middle finger at Draco before focusing again on his meal.

“Poor kid,” Milly commented. “I can’t imagine what all _she’s_ getting.”

“You’ve been, too?” Luca asked.

“A bit.” Milly shrugged. “Too fat, too old to start fresh, probably not better than any boy that could’ve taken my place. Funny how they tend to shut up, though, if you offer to demonstrate your swing.”

Draco laughed along with the rest of them. He hadn’t crossed paths yet with Astoria or Baddock, so hopefully they were holding up all right. It might not hurt at practice just to touch base with everyone on it. Getting that kind of treatment from their own house was much different than if it came from the others.

Come time for practice, Draco was first to arrive with Blaise and Luca. Since nearly half the team were girls now, it felt weird to have so much space as they were separated. Baddock was just as excited about their first time on the field. When they met up with the girls out in the hallway, Astoria was similarly perky. Prewett seemed to have finally caught some of that spirit.

Everyone was rusty as they started with some passing exercises, Draco especially since he didn’t normally handle a quaffle. The team didn’t take it too seriously whenever someone fumbled. They all laughed if it was spectacular enough. Draco would’ve asked them to cut it out were it harmful to team morale, but it seemed to have the opposite effect. Rather than grow insecure, everyone just relaxed.

They did some broom sprints next, followed by diving practice (recovering the quaffle when Draco lobbed it in an arch across the Quidditch pitch) and dodging practice (Milly and Baddock actively tried to hit the team, including each other, with the bludgers) before Draco split them up based on their positions. The Chasers played keep-away with Astoria (them passing while she attempted to intercept), and Milly and Baddock continued trying to take each other out with one bludger to start, then eventually both.

Draco had released the snitch at the beginning of practice to give it a chance to get out of his sight. He caught a glimpse of it occasionally while minding the others, instincts kicking in to beeline for it. He actively searched for it now, circling above and allowing himself occasionally to be distracted by the ebb and flow of Blaise, Luca, Prewett, and Astoria flying about the pitch in a weaving synergy. Draco could already see Milly and Baddock getting more brave about the dodge maneuvers they pulled, as well as pulling no punches when it came to aiming at each other.

He was watching Luca dive for the quaffle when a glint of gold put Draco into a dive before he even really considered what he was doing. His stomach dragged backward toward the sky as the ground rose up to meet him. Despite his speed, the world moved comparatively slow. The grass on the pitch shifted in shades of green. As if the snitch realized it’d been spotted, it took off. Draco followed, turning on a knut as the small ball attempted to dodge rather than outrun. An attempted snatch came up empty-handed for Draco, but he didn’t let it slow him down. He grew slightly disoriented when the snitch headed straight upward, then back over Draco’s head and down. Draco reasserted his focus on the snitch rather than that the ground was above him and sky below. He finally managed to catch it down near the goalposts, motion-sick but otherwise satisfied.

Someone on the team called out to him, and Draco felt his face grow warm with a grin to see that they’d all stopped to watch. He touched base with them briefly, shifting them into a one-side scrimmage where the Chasers tried to score while the Beaters did everything they could to stop them. Draco himself released the snitch again, intent to follow it about until six o’clock came on.

While up in the air, Draco didn’t really notice the effect so much movement and so many quick turns had on him. He stumbled sideways when he landed, pitch slightly spinning. Motion sickness turned his stomach into a rock, but it had mostly abated by the time he’d showered and changed back into his normal clothes. The girls were done before the boys. They waited for them outside the pitch.

“Well, I don’t think we could’ve asked for a better opening practice,” Draco told them. “In all the years I’ve played on this team, it was definitely the best one.”

“ _Way_ better than last year,” Blaise agreed.

They all headed up to the castle. Draco’s stomach was reminding him as pressingly as it could that he usually ate by now. The extra activity didn’t help his hunger level. Draco’s suggestion to talk strategy while the seven of them ate was met with enthusiasm.

“I still need to get the hang of my Firebolt, I think,” Draco said after swallowing a mouthful of mash. “I flew it a lot over the summer, but I didn’t bother practicing with a snitch. The world is still going a little sideways for me.”

“You were even making _me_ dizzy,” Luca said, to which everyone laughed and nodded in agreement.

“Maybe you noticed,” Blaise pointed his fork at Draco, “but the snitch was acting a lot more erratic than usual. Or was that just me?”

“No. . .you’re right.” Draco hadn’t noticed at the time, since he was enjoying the challenge. “It’s not usually that evasive.”

“You used to fly a Nimbus 2001, right?” Prewett asked. “Maybe it tries to match your flying level. If you’re faster, like with the Firebolt, it changes up its strategy.”

“How d’you reckon that would work in matches when the Seekers are on different kinds of broom?” Baddock peered around Milly at her. “Who does the snitch attune to, or whatever?”

“Well, for fairness’ sake, I would guess the less-adequate broom.”

“You might be onto something.” Draco ran through all the matches he’d played in his mind, particularly against Gryffindor. “Think about what that meant in previous seasons. My first one, I had the 2001 and Potter flew a 2000. When we practiced, the snitch would’ve given us two different experiences. I practiced at a higher level, say, and Potter a lower one. When we faced off, the snitch would’ve leaned toward the 2000 in order to even the odds. Ever since Potter got his Firebolt, he would have practices like I just had all this time, while mine weren’t as intense. Then when we faced each other, the snitch wouldn’t be as hard for him to catch in order to accommodate me. Right?”

“If you’re right,” Milly said, “shouldn’t that almost count as cheating?”

“Maybe not, actually.” Another thought occurred to Draco. “If it was, we’d all be forced to play on the same brooms. There might be an advantage, anyway, to having the lesser broom. Potter might’ve been practicing like me today, but when it came to the game, the snitch wouldn’t behave the same way. He would’ve had to adjust to it maybe not being so evasive. The field might be more even now that we’re flying the same broom, but it doesn’t mean he’s going to be any less of a challenge. I won’t be magically better than him with the upgrade.”

“It might not even matter.” Blaise nudged him. “If Luca, Prewett, and I fly enough circles around their Chasers and get past Weasley, we’ll get far enough ahead that even if Potter catches it, we’ll still win.”

“True, but personally, I’d rather we managed both.”

Draco’s willingness to discuss his weak points encouraged the others to do the same. Astoria acknowledged that her left side of defence wasn’t as great as her right, and both Milly and Baddock admitted holding back against potentially injuring their teammates during practice (“Madam Pomfrey can mend a broken bone like nothing,” Draco reminded them all to nervous chuckles). Blaise and Luca admitted a tendency to lock in on each other as passing partners, something Prewett admitted to being too shy to say anything about. They all agreed there were times where, had Luca or Blaise passed to her instead, Astoria wouldn’t have intercepted.

It gave Draco some kind of compass, moving forward for the team as a whole, and each of them as individuals. They ended up sitting in the Great Hall well beyond the tables being cleared and everyone else leaving, segueing from talking strategy to their backgrounds with the game. Luca, Astoria, Prewett, and Baddock hadn’t been around when Draco’s father bought his way onto the team, something that surprised them since he actually ended up talented with it. Most of them had summer camps under their belt. It was news to Draco that Luca had played Chaser in Durmstrang’s school league (which had quadruple the amount of teams and far more matches, including during the peak of Siberia’s frigid winters). Astoria and Milly were the only ones without a background other than playing at home.

Draco checked his watch more frequently as the evening progressed. He could justify sitting there past seven o’clock, but not eight as it neared.

“I have homework I should work on tonight,” he announced with a sigh. “We might have to wrap this up.”

“Yeah, same,” Milly agreed. “I still haven’t finished the last six inches for Sprout. I could probably just do it in the morning, but. . .I don’t know, sleeping in sounds nicer.”

“I wish,” Blaise said. “Draco and I have Snape first thing.”

“R-I-P,” from Baddock was the last contribution to the conversation before they all parted with a final laugh.

Draco turned toward the dungeons, intent to grab his books, but doubled back for the grounds when Luca asked him if they ought to check on the firedrakes before settling in elsewhere. They had meant to right after practice, since Hagrid said during class they were probably mere hours away from hatching. It didn’t surprise Draco at all to see Hagrid’s bulky body blocking the fire’s light reaching the enclosure entrance.

Hagrid looked back over his shoulder when they let themselves in. “Yer jus’ in time. Was gonna send off notes ter everyone once things settled down ‘ere.”

Draco and Luca shared a glance before coming over. Sure enough, Hagrid had pulled three of the firedrakes so far out of their bucket. They worked their way out of their shells on a thick blanket in front of it. Draco hadn’t completely expected just how wet and weak they were. They looked so developed through the shells.

“There’s a bucket o’ raw chicken there.” Hagrid jerked his head toward it, beside the fire. “If yeh start feedin’ ‘em now, that trust’ll start to catch on. ’N if yeh don’ mind jus’ takin’ over for a bit, I’ll let the rest o’ the class know what’s goin’ on.”

He rushed off, leaving Draco and Luca to tend to the firedrakes. Draco pointed his jaw at the bucket Hagrid had indicated. “Pass me a chunk, would you?”

Luca did before plopping down beside the blanket, grinning. “They’re so ugly they’re almost cute.”

He ended up folding his school cloak in his lap and trying to encourage over the first firedrake that had crawled out of its shell. Draco wrinkled his nose at the notion, since he certainly didn’t want slime all over his clothes. When Luca managed, though, Draco swallowed his disgust and was rewarded by the leathery little lump he named Jormundr leaving a trail of mucous across the black fabric.

Most of the rest of the class showed up. Only Ernie didn’t, but he’d relayed a message along with Hopkins that it was because he was busy with Head Boy duties. As it moved closer to nine o’clock now, Draco wondered if he ought to head back up to the castle for his own prefect duties. He opted against it, figuring he’d made enough of an example of other students out past their curfew to curb late-night wandering.

Draco ended up not returning to the castle until close to eleven. He managed to slip away from Luca on the premise of doing a last check of the dungeons, and was happy to find Dagmar in their usual meeting place.

“I almost didn’t think you’d come.” She at least didn’t seem mad or upset with Draco about it. “Practice couldn’t have gone on that long?”

“No.” Draco threw his soiled cloak onto the floor next to the door. “Sorry about that. It did go a little longer than planned since we all ended up talking after dinner, but then Luca and I ran back down to the enclosure and the firedrakes were hatching.”

“Oh?” Dagmar perked up. “That’s cool.”

“Mhm.” Arm around Dagmar’s shoulders, Draco kissed the side of her head before she lifted her chin for one on the lips. “I would’ve come back if I had any homework for tomorrow I needed to finish. At least other than that assignment for Parasca, I’m good through to next week.”

Dagmar smiled and rubbed his arm. “Me too. Would you take me to see the firedrakes tomorrow?”

“Definitely.” Draco was already excited for it. “I’ll probably be spending a lot of time down there, at least until Saturday. The first couple days are crucial, but then after that I need to make sure I’m still on top of my other classes.”

“That worked out well, then, for timing.” Dagmar kissed him again. “How was practice?”

“Great, but I can tell you the details tomorrow or something. I’ve missed you all day.”

He hadn’t seen her hardly at all since they’d woken up together that morning in the Room of Requirement. They didn’t sit close to each other in Charms or Transfiguration, and then they’d been busy with their own things since.

Dagmar sighed contentedly against Draco’s chest. “It probably doesn’t hurt us to get used to not seeing each other for a little while at a time, ja? Otherwise our working lives when we get out of Hogwarts are going to come as a real shock when you’re at the dragon reserve and I’m at the hospital. Neither of us are going into fields where you leave at the end of your shift and just come back to it tomorrow if you’re in the middle of dealing with an emergency.”

“Yeah.” Draco’s arms tightened anyway. “I’m more concerned about losing touch.”

“We still have ways,” Dagmar reassured him. “At least now we get to sleep together three nights a week, we’re spending several hours in the library in the evenings, our friend groups have intersected nicely, there’s always this. . .”

“It’s certainly more than we hoped for.”

“Mhm.” Dagmar rubbed his back. “Not to mention, things will get better when we’re not doing this in secret anymore. Then we can sit together in classes too, if we want. Well, more than just Potions.”

Since they were publicly friendly, Dagmar had just started sitting with Draco right from the beginning of the lesson rather than waiting until Snape told them all to pair up.

“Looking forward to it.” Draco kissed her forehead. “I’m probably getting ahead of it, but do you think once we’re openly going together we’ll be able to spend more nights in the Room of Requirement? Or just go there earlier in the evenings? Not that I’d ever complain about what we do have, but I do miss taking our time with each other.”

Dagmar chuckled. “Honestly, I don’t see why not. It’s not like it would be a leap in assumptions that when we’re going together, we’re also shagging.”

“That quick, though?”

“ _Would_ it be quick? Even this summer, it was about six weeks between when you told me about our new arrangements and we started fooling around. Besides, who knows?” A playful grin came over Dagmar. “When things start clicking into place, maybe I just can’t resist.”

Draco chuckled with her, turning to put Dagmar between himself and the wall. Her gaze was inviting, her mouth welcoming, as Draco’s gentle lean held her there. He started to regret more than emotionally that tonight wasn’t one designated to the Room of Requirement.

“I certainly can’t resist _you_ ,” Draco told her. “You’ll have to forgive me when we’re out in the open for not being able to play _anything_ about this cool.”

“I might for a bit, just because I don’t know how to feel about people looking at us.” Dagmar kissed his nose. “I doubt it’ll take me long to stop caring, though.”


	14. Busted

September disappeared in a flash of fog and frost. October brought with it a coolness on the breeze that encouraged Dagmar to begin dressing in layers underneath her school skirt. Although thicker leggings helped keep the looming winter at bay, her toes remained cold during lessons anywhere but in the dungeons.

The second weekend in October was relatively warm compared to the rest of it so far. It was nice enough that, come the Sunday afternoon, Dagmar agreed when Daphne and Milly asked if she wanted to join them on a walk around the lake.

“Not doing anything with Theo today?” Dagmar asked as they stepped out the castle’s front doors.

“Later,” Daphne replied. “He wanted to catch up to Draco and talk to him about the whole Quidditch thing. It’s gone on stupidly long.”

Dagmar suppressed a scoff. She couldn’t agree more. At this point, it was almost funny. Theo was waiting for Draco to apologize, but Draco had proven himself more stubborn. He had far nobler reasons than Theo, holding to the principle that he respected Mafalda’s position on the Quidditch team more than Theo’s sense of entitlement. While Theo seemed to acknowledge that, Draco wouldn’t accept hashing it out with Daphne on his behalf. If Theo wanted to come back into the fold, he needed to suck it up and apologize in person.

“It really has,” Milly agreed. “Our team is good this year. Most of the house seems over it. The rest will be, when we flatten Gryffindor. Theo was definitely on the wrong side of this.”

“He knows.” Daphne’s misty exhale caught in the sunlight before dissipating. “Boys, you know. Their egos are so fragile.”

Dagmar laughed with Milly. While Draco certainly still had one, his had been tempered as of late. He didn’t have such a need for arrogance when he’d earned his confidence with top-of-the-class level grades on homework and an expanded friends group. Except for when they met in the library during the evenings or down in the dungeons after curfew, Dagmar could never catch Draco on his own. Since she herself had been swallowed into his gang, it at least didn’t mean they couldn’t see each other at all.

“Still, it’ll be nice for you guys to sit with us again,” Dagmar said. “I’m getting tired of waving at you from down the table. Theo always looks so miserable too.”

“He does that on purpose.” Daphne scoffed. “He hasn’t said as much, but I know him too well to guess otherwise. If Draco saw that he looked properly sorry, you know, then maybe they could just let it go and go back to being mates.”

“No offence to Theo, but I’m glad Draco stuck to his wand on it.” Milly tucked her hands into her pockets. “I felt really bad for Mafalda, all that bollocks she was getting about being on the team. I can handle it because I’m used to rude comments, but it really bothered her.”

“I agree with you, don’t worry.” Daphne nodded. “Theo should’ve just accepted it. I mean, both of us were there at _least_ three times when Draco was telling Blaise not to expect a handout. Honestly, I think the whole thing was less to do with Theo’s expectations from Draco and more to do with knowing that even if he tried, he wouldn’t have gotten on the team. Not after seeing how Blaise, Luca, and Mafalda play together.”

“It’s easier to blame things you can’t control than things you can,” Dagmar said.

“Exactly.” Daphne studied Dagmar briefly. “Speaking of Draco, anything to report?”

Dagmar furrowed her brow despite knowing exactly what Daphne was after.

“You’re _killing_ me,” Daphne said. “How long does it take two people to get on with it? Unless I’m just completely barking up the wrong tree, and there is literally nothing between you and Draco. I just don’t know how there couldn’t be.”

“Yeah, I kind of just assumed you were already going together.” Milly looked over Daphne’s head at Dagmar. “A couple times after practice when the team had dinner, Draco’ll dip out like ‘oh, Dagmar’s expecting me,’ or ‘Dagmar might wonder where I am’. Do boys usually do that for girls that aren’t their girlfriends?”

“It must be clear to you he fancies you,” Daphne added. “I haven’t heard him say that verbatim, but really, it’s not hard to see. And I think that if you weren’t interested, you would’ve put some distance between the two of you by now.”

“I guess,” Dagmar conceded.

The longer this went on, the harder it grew for Dagmar to avoid these assumptions. The sixth-year Gryffindor girls had ramped up in their teasing. Even Ginny, while wrinkling her nose, jested with Dagmar that she might earn a Special Award for Services to the School for her sacrifice of going with Draco Malfoy in order to keep the peace.

“So do you fancy him then or not?”

Dagmar shrugged, trying to remain casual, but her heart still pounded inside her ribcage. “Maybe a little.”

“Can I tell Theo and he’ll give Draco a nudge in the right direction?”

“Er. . .”

“Come on, you’re _so far_ past the finding out if he likes you phase.” Daphne nudged her with an elbow. “If you’re not going to make a move yourself, then let things play out from his end. He’s not as intimidating as he used to be.”

“I know,” Dagmar said. “It’s just. . .well, I’m not really sure what to do about Pansy.”

“What about her?” Milly frowned deeply. “Don’t even spare her a thought. She lost her chance with him. She literally threw it away.”

“Eh.” Daphne waved her hand in a so-so motion. “I don’t entirely know if I believe her story. It was a little over the top. I can’t really see Draco being that upset. Tossing his guts? Come on. . .”

“I’ve wondered if it wasn’t the other way around.” Milly scoffed. “From how obsessed with him she was, to suddenly do a complete about-face? Let’s be real. From my experience between both of them since term started, there are about a million reasons for Draco to dump her, and not many, if any at all, for her to dump _him_.”

“That said, I could see your concern.” Daphne turned back to Dagmar. “Even if she’s distanced herself lately, she might still fly off the handle.”

“We’d have your back,” Milly said. “She tends to sod off anymore, if you tell her to. Never had that luxury before.”

Despite their support, Dagmar still wasn’t sure what she could expect from Pansy. It wasn’t the mystery of who might be responsible for anything that happened to her, but what that something might be. In the end, though, Dagmar knew she’d eventually have to deal with it. It was possible that Pansy, despite choosing instead lately to associate with the likes of Parvati and Lavender, was equally in-tune with the changes in Dagmar and Draco’s public relationship. If Pansy was going to fly off the handle, she might have already.

“So can I get Theo to give Draco a nudge on your behalf?” Daphne asked.

“I can figure it out on my own.” Dagmar shrugged. “If it’s going to happen, it’ll happen. It’s not like Draco is shy or anything, either.”

“Nope,” Milly replied. “Lately he’s been pretty set on getting what he wants, based on what I’ve seen on the Quidditch pitch.”

“In class, too,” Daphne said. “I asked him what he’s planning on doing with all the Os he keeps getting on homework, and all he said was whatever he cares to.”

Milly laughed. “You know what I just thought? Remember how Pansy used to tease you, Dagmar, about finding a boyfriend to help you with how rough you used to sleep? I bet she didn’t mean _her_ boyfriend.”

“Ja, probably not.” Dagmar smiled weakly.

Despite her bolstered friendships with Milly and Daphne, it still wasn’t very far from Dagmar’s memory that the two of them had laughed along whenever Pansy started in on it. Dagmar was content to let it go, but for Milly to bring it up was uncomfortable. The two of them looked similarly awkward.

Daphne tucked some hair behind her ear. “About that. . .”

“It’s okay,” Dagmar said. “I know I keep you awake with it. I just wish there was something I could do about them. Not even—”

“You did, though,” Milly cut her off. “I mean, I haven’t heard anything this year at all. Unless I’m just sleeping really heavy, Daph?”

Daphne shook her head. “You’ve been quiet.”

Dagmar frowned. She hadn’t really thought about her nightmares in a while, since there were a million other things going on this term. Now that they pointed it out, Dagmar hadn’t seen that house a single time since—

Voldemort’s high voice carried through her memory: _“That house I saw. Do you know where it is?”_

“That’s good, then,” Dagmar said, forcefully forgetting how her summer ended for the sake of moving on. “I didn’t realize.”

“No? I’m pretty sure if it was still a problem, Pansy would’ve taken all her bad mood lately out on you.”

“Ja,” Dagmar agreed. “I guess she would.”

* * *

Come closer to the end of the month, Draco was hard-pressed to feel any warmth at all coming down from the sun. Herbology, although it forced him out of the castle, was bearable in the warm greenhouses. By the time Draco left there at class’ end, his sweat was fair game to freeze in the chilly October air.

“Question for you guys,” Theo said to Draco and Blaise as the three of them headed back to the castle. “And I want you to actually think about it before you say no.”

Blaise made a noise of uncertainty. “If you have to preface it with that, I’m already leaning that way.”

“Well, with the Hogsmeade weekend coming—” Theo ignored him, “—Daphne and I were talking. It’ll be nice and all to finally be able to go on a proper date for the first time since summer, but what’s really sucked is having no time alone.”

“No,” Blaise said.

“I didn’t even—”

“You’re not shagging in the dorm.”

Draco tilted his head back as he barked with abrupt laughter. Blaise’s deadpan delivery was funny enough on its own, but Theo’s taken-aback expression did him in.

“It’s not like you’d know!” Theo protested. “We wouldn’t do anything on your bed, like _honestly_ , Blaise. We just want some time together that isn’t focused on the logistics of where we can hide without interruption, or how to make it work if there’s no furniture. Please?”

Blaise looked over at Draco, brow low with how unimpressed he was.

“Draco.” Theo looked to him too. “What do _you_ think?”

“Doesn’t matter, does it, if you’ve already got a no?”

Theo looked so crushed by it that a twinge of pity stirred in Draco’s gut. He knew the feeling all too well, and he imagined he’d be just as upset if he and Dagmar didn’t have the Room of Requirement. It occurred to Draco to tell Theo about it—which he immediately vetoed. If Theo and Daphne started hogging it or spending every night there like Draco would if given the opportunity, then where would Draco and Dagmar go?

“Well, I mean. . .” Draco said. “I wouldn’t want to punish you for being considerate enough to ask first.”

Theo’s bottom lip tucked back into place as his pout transitioned into something hopeful.

“I’ll say yes out of pity, but good luck getting Crabbe and Goyle to agree,” Draco said. “Or Blaise.”

“No—whatever,” Blaise huffed. “Fine. But don’t go near my bed, and if it smells weird in there when we’re back, I won’t ever say yes again.”

“Don’t worry about it. Thanks, mates. I owe you each a big one.”

Draco thought that was the end of the discussion, but as they crossed the castle’s threshold Theo dipped around Blaise and moved to Draco’s other side.

“You asking Dagmar to Hogsmeade?” he asked.

“Er, I don’t know.” Everyone other than Theo and Daphne was single, so Draco took for granted that meant he and Dagmar would be going in the same group.

“Better get a move on.” Theo nudged him. “Before you got down to class, guess what Daph and I overheard? Macmillan asked her.”

Draco’s stomach dropped unexpectedly. He’d noticed that Macmillan’s mood wasn’t as jovial today through the Herbology lesson. Draco just assumed he hadn’t gotten the grade he wanted on the homework Professor Sprout handed back. Dagmar hadn’t seemed weird, and she and Macmillan generally worked at the same station.

“She said no,” Theo confirmed what Draco already knew, “but for how long? Bloody hell mate, everyone and their mothers know you fancy each other. Get on with it before she starts to think otherwise.”

Draco grunted, but didn’t have much to say beyond that as they arrived at Charms. He didn’t even know why it bothered him so much. It wasn’t like Dagmar neglected to tell him it happened, since she just hadn’t had a chance yet. Because Dagmar was in a relationship, she would never say yes to something like that. She wouldn’t even consider it. Right?

Although Draco could reason with himself, his anxiety wouldn’t fully abate. It came in cycles throughout the day, at least hushing for the most part when he and Dagmar did their homework together in the evening. Draco had looked all day for a decent time and place to discuss it, but nothing proper came up until the two of them converged in the dungeons past curfew.

“Everything okay?” Dagmar rubbed his forearm. “You’ve been quiet.”

“Something Theo said this morning.” Draco tried to play it casual, but he wasn’t sure how well he succeeded. “He said he overheard Macmillan asking you to Hogsmeade before Herbology.”

“Oh.”

“Did he, then?”

“Not exactly.” Dagmar shrugged. “Ernie wanted me to go with him like steady, not to Hogsmeade.”

Draco stared at her. That was infinitely worse.

“You’re looking at me like there’s any possibility I said anything but no,” Dagmar said. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” Draco answered honestly. “I know you said no, and I don’t expect you would’ve said anything else.”

“Look, it’s far from the first time I’ve turned him down.” Dagmar’s fingers slipped into Draco’s. “He and I are friends, but he goes in cycles. We’ll be good for a while, he catches feelings, he’ll ask, we spend some time apart so he can get over it, and then things go back to normal. You have nothing to worry about.”

“How many times has this happened?”

Dagmar hummed in thought. “About once a year or so since the end of the Triwizard Tournament. He didn’t ask at all last year, actually.”

More information should be making Draco feel better. Since Dagmar was being open about it, it meant she had nothing to hide. And still. . .

“Would you have said yes if it wasn’t for Blaise, back then?” Draco asked. “Or me, now?”

Dagmar sighed. “Draco—”

“Would you?”

“What does that honestly have to do with anything?” Dagmar asked. “Why are you being so jealous about something that never happened and never _will_ happen? What does it matter what I would’ve done if I wasn’t committed to someone else? I don’t get jealous about you and Pansy, or about what might have happened if our parents never changed their minds, or about any of the other girls eyeing you up right now. Don’t you trust me? Why do I even have to ask that?”

“I don’t know,” Draco admitted. “I do trust you. I don’t know why it’s getting to me.”

Just as Draco wasn’t entirely satisfied with Dagmar’s answers, she didn’t look pleased with his. She wouldn’t look at Draco, and a returned squeeze of her hand came with less enthusiasm on a delay.

“I’m trying to think of anything I personally ever did to make you feel insecure,” Dagmar said. “Mind helping me out?”

“Nothing,” Draco reassured her.

“It can’t actually be about Ernie, because you wouldn’t have given this a second thought if you knew how little of a threat he is to you.”

“He _is_ Head Boy,” Draco said.

Dagmar’s eyebrows rose. “If you want to frame me as a social climber, I think I did well enough snagging a prefect and Quidditch Captain.”

Were her tone not so icy, Draco would’ve laughed. That chilliness instead pooled in his stomach.

“That’s not what I meant,” he told her. “I’m trying to figure it out too—”

A noise out in the corridor made both of them jump. Draco’s ears strained against the usual oppressive silence of the dungeons. His pounding heart came through clearly, and then even more so when it picked up again. Draco could hear rustling.

“Stay here,” he whispered to Dagmar.

Quietly as he could, Draco snuck to the door he’d half-closed behind him when he arrived. He slipped through the gap to avoid jarring it, and peered down the corridor in the direction the noise had come from. It was empty.

Draco gestured Dagmar over. “Probably students out of bed. Go the other way back to the common room.”

Dagmar nodded tersely. “Talk tomorrow?”

“Mhm.”

She pressed her lips together before brushing past Draco. Annoyance riddled Draco that they couldn’t get this sorted before bed. Who chose tonight, of all nights, to be one prime for wandering the dungeons?

Draco started down the corridor once Dagmar disappeared at the opposite end. He stopped again, listening acutely when he heard more rustling. It was closer than it should be. It almost sounded like it was in his immediate area, but there was nothing but closed, locked doors and bare stone walls along this particular hall. Draco carried forward, stopping again when he felt a slight breeze to his right that shouldn’t be there. Draco reached out and was surprised to find something solid. He grabbed again. As Draco pulled, a silvery substance gradually became visible in his hand.

So too did Potter standing in front of him.

Time, like Draco’s mind, came to an absolute standstill. Potter looked at Draco with wide eyes and an agape mouth. Draco figured that, expression-wise, it was probably like looking into a mirror.

Draco blinked, gradually coming out of his shock. “What are you doing down here?”

“Er. . .”

Words seemed as hard to form for Potter as they were for Draco. Draco’s stunted emotions finally picked a direction to go: anger. He looked again over the material—some kind of cloak—he held in his hands.

“What were you doing, Potter?” Draco repeated, tone sharpening. “Sneaking around? Spying?”

Potter made a grab for his cloak, but Draco stepped back, balling the cloak up around his arms.

“Give that back, Malfoy.” Potter finally found his voice, although there wasn’t much strength behind it.

“I’m confiscating this.” Draco held it tight against his stomach. “You’d be best to head back to your common room, seeing as curfew passed almost half an hour ago. Oh—and a hundred points from Gryffindor. Be grateful it isn’t more.”

Potter stood his ground. “I’m not leaving without that.”

“A hundred-and-fifty,” Draco said. “I’ll go until Gryffindor is right out, and then I’m going to start with detentions. If you don’t want to explain to your entire house what happened, you’d best just walk away.”

Potter still hesitated.

“Two hundred points.”

Although Draco could see how much it killed him to turn his back, Potter finally did. He left the same way Dagmar had gone, turning left rather than right at the corridor’s end. His footsteps faded away.

Disbelief still riddled Draco. Were he not in possession of what had rendered Potter invisible, he might not even believe that actually happened. It started more to dawn on Draco as he himself headed back toward the Slytherin common room. He’d never expected to find anyone _invisible_ in the dungeons. Draco had also grown secure over the past few months that he and Dagmar were completely secluded when they met up after curfew.

The common room was empty—or so Draco thought, at first glance. Someone stood up near the dying fire out the corner of his eye. It was Dagmar.

“There was no one here,” she said when they came toe to toe. “I figured I’d wait for you. I’d rather we didn’t go to bed mad at each other, if we could manage.”

“Er. . .” Just like with Potter, Draco was having a hard time finding his voice. He didn’t even know how to _begin_ on breaking down what had happened in the five minutes since they’d split ways.

Dagmar noticed the cloak under Draco’s arm. “What’s that?”

“Confiscated it.” Draco could at least answer that much without going into the entire story. Curious, he unfurled it. It looked like any regular cloak, although it started to fade as Draco threw it around his shoulders.

“An invisibility cloak!” Dagmar’s eyes widened. “You got this off a student?”

The same thing that had dawned on Draco hit Dagmar. Her surprise melted gradually, and then all at once into horror.

“There’s been someone walking around invisible at night in the dungeons?” Dagmar brought her hands up to her mouth. “Herregud, for how long do you think? Draco, the things they would’ve heard. The things they might’ve _seen_.”

“I know,” Draco replied.

“Who?”

“Potter.”

Really, it didn’t matter who it was. The implication was equally devastating. Dagmar dropped onto the nearest couch, spine bent and limbs limp. Draco sat down beside her once he’d folded the cloak back up.

“I feel so gross,” Dagmar said. “Do you really think he’s been watching?”

“I don’t know.” Draco rested his head back. “I hope not. I really, really hope. We’ve had our differences, him and I, but that would be too much.”

“I’d rather he thought we were Death Eaters.”

“Same.”

It still didn’t make Draco feel much better, if that was the case. Maybe Potter was running recon rather than slinking around for his own jollies, but it didn’t change what Potter may have witnessed or overhead. Draco wanted to believe that was the first time Potter ventured down there, but it seemed unlikely. How would he have known where to go if he hadn’t stumbled across them at least once before?

“Did you still want to talk about the other stuff?” Draco asked.

“I don’t know if I could really focus enough now.”

“Me neither.”

“I still don’t want to go to bed mad. . .not that I’ll probably feel much other than disgust for a long time coming.” Dagmar shuddered involuntarily. “Can we at least agree that we have a problem and it’ll get dealt with like any other?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.” Dagmar peered around the common room before sighing. “See, now this is going to be the _real_ problem. How do we know nobody’s watching us if I kiss you goodnight?”

A twinge of annoyance pushed through Draco’s flattened mood. “You could just not care.”

Dagmar raised her eyebrows. “Or maybe just not want to, with that winning attitude.”

Draco shrugged, unsure what else to say that wouldn’t launch them right back into a fight. Dagmar shook her head and sighed before rising. It was a while yet before Draco made his own way up to his dorm.


	15. Letting Go

Yesterday had started so promising for Dagmar, as days usually did when they began with Draco in the Room of Requirement. Thanks to Ernie pulling her aside before Herbology, though, things had quickly started to go downhill. Ernie’s confidence that Dagmar would say yes this time had been high enough to risk the awkward two hours to follow. Study hall carried on that way, since Ernie was scheduled in as an aide. While they could be cordial, Dagmar noticed a couple times when she looked over the room that she had just missed Ernie averting his gaze.

Draco should’ve been her relief from all that, a safe place to vent about how quickly a perfectly fine friendship could sustain such a blow, but no. On top of all that, this entire thing with Potter ensured Dagmar got little rest through the night. At least with so much time to think, she felt she had a pretty good idea where Draco’s sudden jealousy had risen from.

The mood in the Great Hall was lopsided, for lack of a better word, when Dagmar arrived come morning. Gryffindor’s end was subdued, while the Slytherins almost seemed celebratory.

Daphne slid closer to Milly to make room. Dagmar reached for the nearest pot of coffee. “What’s everyone so excited about?”

“You didn’t look at the house points on the way in?” Milly snickered. “Someone in Gryffindor cocked up royally last night. They plummeted into last. We’re the clear lead now.”

Dagmar wished she could feel some satisfaction from that. “Someone flew too close to the sun, I suppose.”

“It’s all fun and games until you’re caught.” Daphne pulled a piece of bacon into two before popping one half into her mouth. “Theo asked Malfoy what gives, since it had to have happened late. Maybe he’d heard. But we won’t know unless either Granger or Macmillan say who docked how many points from who. Astoria says they’re the only students with access to that information.”

“They must have at least thought it was a worthy price to pay, if they didn’t reverse it before breakfast,” Milly said. “I wouldn’t count on it getting out. Maybe if it was a Ravenclaw or Slytherin, but this is pretty embarrassing for Gryffindor. Granger won’t spill.”

Dagmar doubted she would either, especially considering who the perpetrator was. Since she hadn’t intended on eating, Dagmar ended up leaving the Great Hall ahead of everyone else. She chanced a glance at the Gryffindor table on the way by. Potter blended in with the rest of his house, in how bummed he looked. He didn’t look embarrassed, which was what Dagmar wanted to see.

Defence first block went fine, but Dagmar wished as she arrived at Potions that she and Draco had a chance beforehand to try patching things up again. She sat beside him regardless, and they worked together on the Antidote to Common Poisons Snape assigned them. Their stiff professionalism almost tickled Dagmar as the block wore on. The more she thought about what had possibly led them to the fight last night, the more confident Dagmar felt she was right. If she was, it was hard to stay mad.

“Hey,” she spoke as they hit the final stride in completing their work. “What’re you doing during the lunch break?”

Draco looked up from where he minced their mint sprigs. “Nothing.”

“Me neither.”

Draco nodded, having caught the hint. The rest of class passed in a flurry as everyone finished up, and Dagmar wasn’t sure how to feel when their potion ended up deviating from the apparent norm. Snape’s eyebrows rose when Dagmar presented him a vial turned slightly violet compared to everyone else’s teal.

“Lavender.” He sounded impressed. “Interesting.”

That took care of one worry, at least. Butterflies fluttered in Dagmar’s stomach as she returned to her and Draco’s seats. They weren’t from nerves, and maybe Draco saw that when their gazes happened to meet. His lingered, growing hopeful in his curiosity.

“I’m going to get my things for History of Magic,” Dagmar told him. “We could just grab something quick from the Great Hall, and go for a walk?”

He nodded. Dagmar expected they would converge in the Entrance Hall, but she ended up spotting Draco ahead in the corridor on her way out of the dungeons. The two of them left the castle with their sandwiches in hand, migrating toward the lake. It started to look glassy from its nightly attempts to freeze over.

“Look, I’m sorry about last night,” Draco opened the conversation. “I didn’t mean what I said.”

“Ja, you did,” Dagmar replied. “It’s what the entire problem is, isn’t it?”

Draco furrowed his brow. “I know you care. I know you love me.”

“That’s not what you were arguing.” Dagmar popped the last bite of her sandwich into her mouth. “It all comes back to the fact that we’re still sneaking around. You didn’t want to do it when we talked about it in the summer. You didn’t want to when we came back. You’ve never wanted to, even if you knew we had to. Maybe you understood, but it never changed the way you feel.”

“No,” Draco agreed. “It doesn’t feel right to treat something so good like it’s a bad thing. And now it’s like. . .Blaise is fine. He gave his blessing. Pansy doesn’t even care. None of your friends care. _Our_ friends are getting annoyed with us for not just getting it over with, but we’re still keeping it secret. I don’t get why, and now people like Macmillan are eyeing you up as if you’re available. Why can’t you be proud of this? Why won’t you be proud to be with me?”

That was exactly where Dagmar suspected their problem to lie. Even though she expected to discuss it, it still hurt her on Draco’s behalf for his frustrations to be laid out so plainly.

“I don’t even know that my reasons are reasons,” Dagmar replied. “At this point, it’s more habit than anything. I had it in the back of my mind that if we were lucky, we might be able to date openly in the new year. If _I_ was lucky, I would only lose half my friends. Things are going well, ja. . .almost _too_ well. I’ve been waiting for something to go wrong, because there’s no way it could’ve been this easy.”

“Maybe I’m not social suicide after all.”

“I’ve never been happier to be wrong.” Dagmar slipped her hand into Draco’s. “I feel like an arse for us even having to consider that, but I’d rather that be the problem than it having wound up true.”

Dagmar wasn’t even sure if Draco heard what she said beyond her fingers entwining with his. The glumness he’d carried around for the past few days was replaced by a small smile.

“I’m sorry,” Dagmar told him. “I wish we knew then what we know now. I could’ve spared you a lot of grief.”

“It’s okay. Neither of us knew what would happen.” Draco squeezed her hand. “So. . .what now, then?”

“Our friends are right.” Dagmar brushed some stray hairs away from her face. “This has gone on long enough. Since we never made it to lunch, they’ll wonder where the two of us went off to.”

“They’ve been bugging me to ask you to Hogsmeade.”

Although the idea thrilled Dagmar, intensifying the butterflies she’d been harbouring all morning, she bumped her shoulder into his. “That’s all you want?”

“Obviously not.” Draco’s smile turned into a playful smirk. “I want to be able to say you’re my girlfriend.”

“Okay,” Dagmar said, “but I still want that date to Hogsmeade.”

“‘Kay.”

Draco looked so sweet in his hardly-contained happiness that Dagmar couldn’t resist foregoing their entwined fingers for a hug instead. She still felt some lingering nerves about who might see them, but those would fade away as her concept of what constituted normal shifted. Her happiness to have ended their fight made it all the more difficult to suppress a swell of affection. Dagmar nuzzled Draco’s shoulder in attempt to exercise it out, but it wasn’t quite enough.

Deja vu washed over Dagmar, along with warmth, as she took his lips with hers. She’d made him wait again, just like with their actual first kiss. The delay was hopefully as worth it, but it made Dagmar feel bad that, despite their growth as a couple, she was still holding back in ways.

For that, she didn’t take her hand back when she and Draco returned to the castle. She might have been spared a hot face if her and Draco’s friends were capable of treating it casually. Dagmar bowed her head and hid her eyes and grin behind her free hand when Theo yelled (completely unnecessarily, given their proximity), “‘Bout bloody time, then!” Draco’s cheeks flushed too.

Aside from that, their friends were just satisfied to ask if this meant they were going together, and then that was it. Dagmar was content to sit beside Draco while the conversation around them returned to whatever they’d been before. When Dagmar mentioned heading to History of Magic, Draco similarly excused himself to tag along.

“So what’re you doing for the afternoon?” Dagmar asked.

Draco shrugged. “Probably gonna try to make a dent in my homework, if I can manage to concentrate.”

Dagmar chuckled. Similarly, she had no idea how she would focus on Professor Binns’ relentless drone when her thoughts were so stuck with Draco. It was difficult to let him go when they hugged goodbye, and Dagmar felt her heart skip when he kissed her cheek in parting.

She hadn’t stepped far into the classroom when she came to a stop. Dagmar usually sat beside Hermione. No doubt Hermione knew what Potter had done, and Dagmar would place her entire balance at Gringotts on a wager that she had grilled Potter on why he’d do something so utterly stupid. More from embarrassment than misplaced anger, Dagmar headed instead to where Blaise sat.

“Mind if I join you?” Dagmar asked Blaise.

He glanced up at her before moving his bag off the chair. “Not sitting with Granger?” 

Dagmar shook her head as she pulled out some parchment. “I haven’t had a chance to talk to her yet, and she and Draco have some bad history, so. . .”

“Nah, I get it.”

Dagmar hesitated on that note. As far as she’d seen today, Blaise held true on his acceptance that Dagmar and Draco were together. He hadn’t turned surly when finally confronted with the actual sight of it.

“What about you?” she asked. “Still good?”

“Yeah.” Blaise shrugged it off. “I was expecting it to happen soon. I hope you two didn’t put off on my account.”

“Not really, but maybe a little,” Dagmar admitted.

Blaise scoffed, but it was more from amusement than disdain. It helped Dagmar relax against the idea that she insisted upon her presence so shortly after forcing her relationship with Draco on Blaise.

Professor Binns floated in through the blackboard, and didn’t even acknowledge the class with so much as a glance. “We’ll continue from where we left off Thursday. . .”

* * *

Dagmar woke up Saturday to whispers punctuated by the odd giggle. She rolled onto her back, stretching as she yawned.

“You awake?” Daphne whispered.

“Ja.”

“Not because of us, hey?”

“Don’t think so. Don’t worry about it, anyway.”

Dagmar headed for the toilet. Pansy’s bed was already empty. She hadn’t spent anymore time in here recently than what she needed to for sleep. Dagmar figured that if Pansy could find a bed anywhere else in the castle, she would have by now.

Daphne grinned when Dagmar returned to the dorm. “So, what are you wearing to Hogsmeade?”

Dagmar hadn’t really thought about it, which launched the three of them into getting ready for their respective days. Some of the new winter clothes Dagmar had ordered from Lyng a few weeks ago arrived on Thursday, so Daphne made her model everything. It didn’t take long for Dagmar’s initial hesitation to be overtaken by the giggly mood Daphne found herself in today. Even Milly, who Dagmar thought couldn’t care less about things like this, caught on. She asked to see the Winter 1998 catalogue Dagmar had received late September, and flipped idly through it between offering her opinions of what Dagmar wore.

“So what about you, then?” Dagmar asked Daphne as she removed the outfit she chose, intent to shower. “What’re you wearing?”

“Not a whole lot.” Daphne pulled the neck of her pyjama shirt to show a lacy black bra underneath. She stuck out her tongue playfully as Dagmar and Milly laughed.

“After, though,” Dagmar clarified. “You’re not coming to Hogsmeade at all?”

“Oh, maybe. I’ll just throw something on in that case. I’m already dressing up once for Theo today.”

Daphne meant to do her hair and makeup to complete whatever all she was hiding underneath her sleepwear. She was in front of the mirror when Dagmar came out of the shower, curling her normally pin-straight blonde hair.

“Ooh, I’m so excited,” she said as Dagmar towel-dried her hair beside. “It has been _way_ too long since I got laid in a bed. I still can’t believe Theo managed to convince all his dorm-mates.”

“Helping out a mate in need,” Dagmar jested.

“Or hoping it means he’ll return the favour.” Daphne nudged Dagmar. “Although I’m sure that’s still a ways off for you, huh?”

Dagmar shrugged as she squeezed some treatment oil into her hand. “Who ever really knows?”

“Draco’s your first boyfriend though, right?”

“Ja.”

“So you’ve probably never shagged anyone then.”

Dagmar quickly lost motivation on trying to keep the truth vague without outrightly lying. She wasn’t embarrassed that she was sexually active, and she certainly wasn’t ashamed. Even if she was, it would be hard to feel any of that when Daphne wasn’t only casual about her own sexuality, but excited.

“There was a boy this summer,” Dagmar said as she ran the oil through her hair with her fingers. “A man, rather.”

“Really!” Daphne’s eyes widened with interest. “ _Ohhhh_ , when you went to Nice! What was he like?”

“Hot, blond.” Dagmar fended off a cheeky grin. “Played Quidditch.”

“Somebody has a type.”

“Guess so,” Dagmar chuckled.

“What was it like for _you_ then, the first time?” Daphne asked. “If you were with someone more experienced, it must not have been too awkward or anything.”

“Was it for you?”

“Yeah.” Daphne laughed. “Neither of us really knew what we were doing. Did it hurt?”

“Nei, just uncomfortable for the first bit.”

“Lucky.” Daphne studied herself in the mirror after finishing her last curl. “You probably didn’t have a problem with him finishing really fast then either, huh?”

“Nei. That’s normal though, isn’t it, for blokes when they haven’t done it before?” Dagmar had read it in Draco’s black book, and he confirmed it for himself when it came up in conversation.

“I’d say yes from my experience. It’s gotten better now.” Daphne’s chipper attitude reemerged.

Dagmar smiled at her in the mirror. “That’s good.”

“Yeah, I’m hoping. . .” Daphne’s cheeks darkened as she nervously giggled, something Dagmar wasn’t used to seeing from her. It was enough to slow Dagmar in towelling her hair again. “It’d be nice if maybe today. . .I’d like to—you know.”

“What?”

“ _You know_.”

Dagmar blinked. “Have an orgasm. . .?”

The parts of Daphne’s face that weren’t already red went that way. She giggled again, so embarrassed that it endeared Dagmar.

“If you’re open to tips, I could give you some,” Dagmar said.

Perhaps since Dagmar wasn’t as scandalized by such a thing, Daphne calmed down a little. “Like what?”

“Tell him to have a wank beforehand.” Rather than have to fetch her wand, Dagmar tried drying her hair without. “Or get him off, whichever. It’ll take him a while to come back around, and when he does, he’ll last longer—”

“Oh, I’ve noticed that!” Daphne’s eyes lit up again. “Sorry, go on.”

Dagmar flashed her a smile. “So after that, get him to warm you up. Going down on you is the best way. . .or nei?”

Daphne had pulled a weird face. “Blokes do that?”

“They even like it, in my experience.” Dagmar’s lower stomach warmed involuntarily as she remembered the last time Draco did, how he’d pulled her toward him on the bed by her hips with something like hunger in his gaze. “They just have to be open enough to try it first.”

“Okay.” Daphne accepted it, although she grew more serious. “What then?”

“Get close. _Really_ close,” Dagmar emphasized. “You’re probably mostly used to him on top, ja?”

“Mhm.” Daphne nodded enthusiastically.

“Put a pillow under your bum, and lay so that your knees are up against your chest,” Dagmar said. “He should hit your g-spot at that angle.”

“Huh,” Daphne said after a moment.

“It’s the only way I managed to have an orgasm just from him being inside me, anyway.”

“Sounds nice, I won’t lie.” Daphne opened up her makeup kit. “I only don’t know how to say all that to Theo. And what if he won’t—you know, go down? What if he thinks it’s gross?”

“But it’s not if you do it for him?”

Daphne shrugged. “Blokes just expect it, don’t they?”

“Most, probably.”

“I’d like to try, anyway. Sometimes it’s so frustrating when things are finally starting to feel good, and then he’s done. Poor Theo, he says it’s _because_ I’m liking it he gets too excited.”

“That’s actually kind of sweet.” Dagmar brushed her hair again now that it was dry. The oil had left it silky, and it shone in the torchlight. “It sounds like he’d want a way to get you off. It makes blokes proud when they do, you know? Speaks to their prowess.”

“I guess it would.”

Daphne fell quiet while she worked on her makeup, clearly mulling things over. Her green eyes, while normally very pretty anyway, stood out when she was done. “So what’re you doing with your hair and stuff?”

Dagmar had decided just to leave her hair down, since she usually didn’t. She went with minimal makeup. The two of them finished up and collected Milly from the dorm room on their way through. Even though it was still shortly before when Dagmar had agreed to meet Draco, he and Theo were already down in the common room. Theo hadn’t properly dressed either, his hair still wet from the shower, but Draco looked as dapper as ever. The way his gaze softened when he spotted Dagmar turned her smile into a grin. Although too embarrassed yet to kiss in front of Daphne and Theo, Dagmar squeezed his hand and stood close enough for their shoulders to press.

“Well, you kids have fun.” Theo stretched. “Maybe we’ll come down later.”

“We won’t hold our breath.” Dagmar winked quickly at Daphne, who blushed anew with a knowing smile.

Slytherins migrated en mass out of the common room, as nine o’clock neared. Dagmar had already lost sight of their other friends, which suited her just fine. It hadn’t been since Dagmar’s birthday that she and Draco were able to go on an actual date. She didn’t think she could be so excited about something so trivial. Since it was rare, it became special.

“Anything specific you wanted to do today?” Draco asked.

“Nei.” Dagmar bumped up against him. “I’m just glad to go with you.”

Like on Dagmar’s birthday in Bergen, it wound up fun just to roam through the shops and see what they could find. Dagmar’s pockets weighed more in sweets than coin when they left Honeydukes. While roaming around Zonko’s, Dagmar had a chuckle to herself over a plain bag of beans.

“‘Only remove from bag with hands’,” Draco read the warning label when Dagmar gave them to him. “What does that mean? What else would I use to take them out?”

“I don’t know,” Dagmar said with a laugh.

“Hold on.”

Draco guided one up out of the bag with a Levitating Charm, where it hovered briefly above the opening before exploding with a loud snap. He jumped and dropped the rest of the bag. The beans fell out when they hit the ground, and set off a chain reaction that Draco had to dance away from.

All the racket drew laughter from around them on the street. Dagmar herself laughed so hard she’d gone silent, her body wracking from it while her eyes leaked tears. She had to lean against a nearby pole for support when Draco turned his face away while cautiously reaching to pick the bag back up. He peered inside.

“Well, that was all of them,” Draco told Dagmar. “I hope you didn’t spend too much on that.”

“Ten knuts, but the laugh was worth ten galleons.”

Draco narrowed his eyes, lips in a tight, playful smile. “You did that on purpose.”

“I swear I didn’t.” Dagmar wiped her eyes. “I just couldn’t think of anything more useless than a bag of beans for a gift.”

“I think I managed, actually. . .”

Draco dug into his pocket for a slim vial of transparent liquid labelled as a Hydration Potion. When Dagmar figured out what it was, her unimpressed groan was drowned out by Draco’s laughter.

The coins in Dagmar’s pockets slowly changed out for other such things, as she and Draco fell back into their usual game of finding the silliest possible gifts to present each other. By the end of it, Dagmar had in her possession the Hydration Potion, a turning rod thats sole function was to turn milk sour, a small lantern that flashed colours rather than provided genuine light, a necklace that randomly shifted the wearer’s vocal pitch up two octaves while they spoke, and an amulet that glowed blue when it was raining (but only worked outside).

Dagmar spent her last sickle on a coffee to-go from Madam Rosmerta. It warmed up her stomach against the cold air that was starting to penetrate through her clothes. Without money, she was running out of ideas on what to do in Hogsmeade other than walk through the streets hand-in-hand with Draco.

She pointed her jaw up the nearby hill. “We could go to the Shrieking Shack?”

“Eh.” Draco made a face. “I don’t like it. I’ve had experiences up there—”

He stopped speaking so abruptly that Dagmar looked at him again. His eyes were narrowed, gaze darting in thought. It let up as some sort of realization dawned, his mouth falling open with a quiet gasp.

“Potter,” he said. “That cloak. It _was_ him, up there.”

“What’s this?” Dagmar asked.

“One time we came to Hogsmeade back in third year, Crabbe, Goyle, and I all went up to check it out. Weasley was there alone, or so we thought. I got pelted with mud, and then I saw Potter’s floating head. I told Snape, but he couldn’t pin Potter with anything. I thought it _was_ just ghosts.”

“This mud,” Dagmar nudged him, “did you happen to deserve it?”

“That’s not the point.” Draco huffed. “If Potter’s had that cloak this long, I’m sure he’s missing it by now. I still haven’t decided what to do with it.”

Dagmar furrowed her brow. “You never handed it in?”

Draco turned them in general direction toward the castle, the emptiest part of Hogsmeade this early in the afternoon. “I meant to, but—” he lowered his voice, “if Snape’s a Death Eater, I didn’t think it would be a good thing in his possession. He never asked for it, which means Granger probably left that detail out about Potter losing his cloak on top of all those house points.”

“Where is it right now?” Dagmar asked. “It’s safe? It’s not really something that should be in _anyone’s_ hands.”

“Buried at the bottom of my trunk, still there as of this morning.” Draco exhaled sharply in amusement. “Believe me, with Theo and Daphne er, _standing guard_ , it’ll be fine for another day. It’s not like Potter has friends in Slytherin that he could ask to go to my dorm and steal it back anyway.”

“Nei.”

Draco’s trunk was probably the best place for it for now, Dagmar reasoned. She certainly wasn’t comfortable with the cloak going back to its original owner, considering the situation in which Draco caught Potter with it. Potter would’ve ideally learned his lesson, but Dagmar sincerely doubted that would be the case. Potter would still use it. He would just be more careful about being caught.

A chill settled into Dagmar by the time she and Draco made it back to Hogwarts. Her teeth chattered, and even the Entrance Hall’s warmth felt superficial.

“I could go for a hot bath,” she said. “What would you think about heading upstairs?”

“Yeah, that sounds good.”

Since most of the school’s population remained in Hogsmeade, it was easy to avoid any of their fellow students on the way to the Room of Requirement. Draco went ahead into the bathroom to run the water. Dagmar felt the difference between each layer of clothing she removed. Bumps rose all over her body when she stood naked.

She tightly folded her arms as Draco undressed. “My nipples could cut dragon hide right now.”

Draco snorted his way into a laugh. “Go on ahead. I won’t be far behind.”

Dagmar certainly felt better to be submerged. Her gooseflesh persisted where the water had yet to cover her. She pulled her knees up to give Draco room to get in, then budged closer to the edge when he chose her end over the opposite. Once he settled with his arm around her, Dagmar laid her head on his shoulder.

“Better?” he asked.

“Mhm.” Dagmar ran her fingers lightly over Draco’s forearm. “So how’ve you been feeling about things since Monday?”

“Good.” Draco nuzzled the top of Dagmar’s head. “Why, do I seem like I’m not?”

“Nei, I just wanted to check in,” Dagmar assured him. “It’s certainly been different.”

“It has.” Draco hesitated. “I had a thought I might have pressured you to make this public.”

“You didn’t pressure me to do anything,” Dagmar said. “It was time. What’s strange for me is that I didn’t think about what kind of attention I’d get for being attached to someone so popular. I didn’t realize how many girls fancied you until I started getting dirty looks from them.”

“ _Am_ I popular?”

“I’d say so. Look at how big our friends group has gotten. I have to count us all on two hands.” Dagmar scratched her thigh. “Doesn’t hurt that you’re a Quidditch Captain and, to be fair, you made sure everyone knew your name through the first six years we were here. I would argue that that notoriety turned into popularity once everyone realized you’d mellowed out.”

Draco hummed thoughtfully. “Maybe. I don’t know that I feel popular.”

“It’s not for you to decide, is it?” Dagmar nudged Draco with her leg.

“You neither, then.” Draco nudged her right back. “I’ve gotten my share of dirty looks too. Macmillan. . .”

He trailed off. It was still a little bit of a sore spot for Dagmar, since Ernie clearly hadn’t taken well to the appearance that she agreed to go with somebody else only a day after she’d turned him down. Pride was _far_ from a trait only Slytherins were capable of, considering how much Ernie’s stung.

“It is what it is.” Dagmar shrugged it off. “I’m sure if he could control his feelings, he would. I thought maybe after I turned him down at the end of fifth year, that was it. If it’s always going to be like this with him, though, I can’t justify disrespecting our relationship by keeping him around.”

“I don’t think it has to come to that,” Draco said. “So long as he knows where everyone stands, I don’t care.”

“To be completely honest, back when he asked me to go with him in fourth and fifth year, I would’ve agreed if it wasn’t for my betrothal to Blaise.” Dagmar’s heart picked up a little for fear of opening this fight back up. “I liked him well enough to want to try. I wouldn’t say I had any fuzzy feelings for him, although back then it was confusing because I didn’t feel any stronger about Blaise. Now it’s clear I just never had feelings for either of them.”

“If you didn’t feel anything like that for Macmillan, then why go with him?” Draco sounded more curious than irate about it.

“Just to have a boyfriend, since Blaise didn’t really end up counting. Having one _has_ been fun.” Dagmar nuzzled Draco again. “Does the whole thing still make you jealous?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugged. “Maybe only because the things that led to it are still fresh. I don’t have any right to feel that way. It’s not like it was a serious relationship. It was just something that might have happened if things were a little different. I guess when you never had a chance to try it out, I could worry that you wonder what might’ve been.”

“I understand why you might fear that,” Dagmar replied. “It’s not like with you and Pansy at all. One thing I asked myself after we had that fight was how you could be so jealous of Ernie when there was nothing there. I didn’t feel anything like that about you and Pansy, but you had the chance for things to run their course with her. Even though you two were on track to be married and were planning around that, you ultimately didn’t want it. You chose me. You could say I chose you too, but it wasn’t over Ernie. It was over Blaise. I knew where things would’ve gone with Blaise, and I didn’t want that either. I don’t have that background with Ernie, where you can just take for granted nothing had potential there. It doesn’t help that you and Ernie are quite similar in ways. He’s more pompous than arrogant, but both of you are confident. You’re both in positions of authority. So. . .I don’t know, are you scared that those similarities would make it easier for me to see him anything like I see you?”

“Maybe. You also have a longer history with him.”

“That’s true.” Dagmar nodded. “That would’ve also given me more time to develop feelings for him. Last year was the test. We were just friends, and I was content with that. Looking back, it’s not like I was exactly unavailable. I just can’t call what Blaise and I had a proper relationship. Doesn’t mean I would’ve gone with Ernie, but there was a capacity there for him to strike my fancy.”

“I guess so, hey?”

The hint of relief in Draco’s tone made Dagmar smile. Because she couldn’t resist, she nuzzled him again and ended with her nose against his shoulder. “I don’t care how we wound up together, if our parents arranged us, or if we fell for each other on our own. I love you. In a way it’s almost too bad that becomes a blanket term because I think maybe I’ve relied on it too much when I want to tell you how I feel. I could stand to tell you more often how much I respect you, or how proud of you I am, or how handsome you are, but whenever all those things come over me, the only word that comes to mind to sum it all up is love.”

Draco fell silent for a while, but Dagmar could appreciate his arm tightening around her and his own nose finding her hairline. The bathroom was quiet enough that she could faintly hear the rapid beat of his heart.

“That’s probably the loveliest thing anyone’s ever said to me,” he told her.

“I mean every word,” Dagmar replied. “There are so many times when I’m with you, my chest hurts because it’s like it’s not big enough to hold everything I feel. I probably owe you for me knowing who I even am. Your patience with me and your willingness to offer me the freedom to figure out what I wanted. . .what a great thing to give somebody.”

When Draco didn’t say anything again, Dagmar looked up at him. His expression had softened in the way that made him hard to look at. Regardless, Dagmar held his gaze until their foreheads touched. Draco closed his eyes with a shaky sigh.

“I wish I could say more than that’s exactly how I feel about you, too,” he said. “You put it into words.”

Dagmar glowed with pure happiness anyway, for she was bloody lucky to get that in return. Kissing Draco even felt different, despite relative chasteness compared to their usual antics. Laying naked together normally took them in one direction, especially when Dagmar felt so emotionally winded, but the mutual vulnerability drawn from such an unconditionally pure form of tenderness required no elaboration.

The headspace Dagmar slipped into left her feeling like they’d perhaps shared some wine while in the bath. When the water started to cool, the two of them moved to the bed. Dagmar was content to resume something similar to their position, laid on her side cradling Draco’s head against her chest and gently running her nails over his scalp. Draco would’ve probably dozed off if Dagmar hadn’t wondered after how her advice for Daphne worked out, which compelled her to update Draco on what new degree of their truth was now public domain.

“I’m going to be relieved once everyone knows we’ve shagged,” she concluded with. “Now that mostly everything is out, it’s starting to feel exhausting holding back on the rest.”

“Well, let’s say everything you told Daphne is true,” Draco replied. “Say you spent a couple weeks shagging some French bloke over the summer, and then when we came back to Hogwarts, we went from study buddies to this. How long would it reasonably take before you’d want me?”

“Ten minutes.”

Draco snorted.

“Seriously!” Dagmar said. “I would’ve wanted to probably long before you’d even asked me to go with you.”

“That doesn’t really answer when it would’ve happened, though.”

“Who says it has to be a planned thing?” Dagmar slid further down on the bed so that they were eye-level. “The first time we ever fooled around, I didn’t wake up that day with it in mind. I’d wanted you before that, and then it just happened when it happened. For this, it could happen anytime. It could be happening right now.”

Draco’s light scratch on Dagmar’s lower back slowed. He drew in a slow breath, perhaps trying to use it to cool the same heat that rolled through Dagmar’s lower abdomen.

“Screw it,” Dagmar decided. “I don’t care if everyone thinks I’m maybe a little bit of a slag.”

“Nothing wrong with wanting what you want, and then going for it.”

“Nei.”

In keeping of that spirit, Dagmar was deliberate in how their lips fit together as she leaned in. Draco was already malleable, as was she, but Dagmar managed to steal the air from his lungs by something so simple as grazing him between his legs. Dagmar didn’t give Draco much time to dwell before pushing him onto his back and sliding over to straddle his hips. His fingertips pressed into Dagmar’s thighs, digging in when she kissed his neck.

Draco wasn’t as utterly wrecked as Dagmar at the end of it, but wrecked regardless. They ended up heading down for dinner late, unsure if they would even catch any of their friends still there. Most had indeed cleared out, and those that were present were tired from their day in Hogsmeade. Dagmar had hoped to catch Daphne, dying of curiosity, but their paths didn’t end up crossing until they washed their faces beside each other in the dorm’s bathroom close to bedtime.

“Well?” Dagmar glanced at her. “How’d it go?”

Daphne glimpsed in direction of the dorm before stepping a little closer and lowering her voice. “My legs are _still_ shaking.”

The two of them giggled quietly in attempt to not be heard by Pansy, who’d arrived not too long ago and immediately pulled the curtain shut on her bed.

“Mine neither,” Dagmar whispered back, completely honest to the fact.

Daphne’s eyes lit up. “You didn’t!”

Dagmar shrugged.

“You _did_.” Daphne turned to properly face her, leaning on the counter. “Well? It was good, then?”

“I’ll certainly do it again.” Dagmar couldn’t help but grin.

“So what exactly took you to that on your first date?”

“It just happened,” Dagmar repeated the story. “I guess it didn’t hurt that we’d both been all fuzzy for each other for a little while. It just felt right. I don’t regret it at all.”

“I’m sure you don’t.” Daphne finger-combed her hair back so she could tie it together. “Not if your day was anything like mine.”


	16. The Bridging Hall

The Saturday on Hogsmeade weekend wound up much nicer than the day to follow. Dagmar took one look out a window once she reached the castle’s main floor Sunday morning and decided there was nothing about the foggy landscape that could compel her to go outside today.

She had something she meant to do anyway, aside from grind through the homework that weighed her mind as heavily as her school bag. She brought it all to the library, where she was hoping Hermione would be.

Dagmar lucked out. Hermione glanced up as Dagmar approached her table, then gave her full attention when Dagmar didn’t use her greeting as invitation to sit.

“I was wondering if we could chat?” Dagmar asked. “If you’re not too busy, that is.”

“Er—no, it’s okay.” Hermione started closing books. “I’ve pushed back as far as Snape’s essay for Thursday.”

“Nice.” Dagmar smiled. “I’m up to Wednesday, myself.”

Hermione at least didn’t seem put off by Dagmar’s presence, which was a promising start. Dagmar led her into the currently-empty study hall room and closed the door behind her. Outside, it started to rain.

“Something up?” Hermione set her bag down before sliding back onto a desk.

“Well. . .” Dagmar had struggled with how to open this conversation. “We haven’t talked all week, so I guess I just wanted to clear the air if there was anything between us. You know about Draco and I, right?”

Hermione nodded.

“It’s no secret he’s treated you like dung in the past.” Dagmar mirrored how Hermione sat on the desk opposite. “I originally wanted to give you some space to—I don’t know, get used to the idea, I guess. I thought it would be better to let you decide when we sat in class or studied together. Since it’s been almost a week, though, I thought maybe I was giving the impression instead that since I’m going with him, I wouldn’t want anything to do with you anymore. I was also starting to wonder if maybe you don’t want anything to do with _me_ now.”

Hermione pursed her lips the way she usually did when she was thinking. “It’s none of my business who you go with. I just thought you were preoccupied with it being new and all.”

“Ja. . .that’s true enough.”

“You could have a little faith in me.” Hermione managed a smile bordering on playful. “I know you well enough after all these years to guess you wouldn’t have anything to do with Malfoy if he hadn’t found some shred of decency within himself. You never cared for him when he was top prat.”

Dagmar shook her head. “He was intolerable.”

“So what happened, do you think?” Hermione asked. “Or do you know? I won’t deny I’ve wondered. When I got my Head Girl badge in July, my first thought was how he was going to take having to answer to me.”

“He just. . .” Since so much of Dagmar’s summer spent with Draco was based on things she couldn’t talk about, she had to be careful. “Something changed over the summer. I’ve spent enough time with him to know it’s genuine.”

“I cautiously accept that,” Hermione said. “I have to review all the point deductions done on behalf of the prefects, and Maisy Fowler told me as part of passing along tips from her Head Girl experience to watch him closely. I have been, but he’s been fair in how he enforces the school rules. Dealing with him one-on-one if I ever had to hasn’t been different from any other prefect, either.”

“Nei?” Dagmar hadn’t even been aware that Draco and Hermione interacted on their own, but she was proud that, not only had Draco stayed true to himself, he didn’t take it as an opportunity to brag. “That’s good.”

“As he is, I get it.” Hermione shrugged. “Honestly, I think if he’s trying not to be an absolute piece of rubbish, it doesn’t hurt to encourage him. It doesn’t help to hold how he used to act against him, either. I see that mentality a lot, especially with Harry and Ron, ‘once a git, always a git’. That said, I don’t quite know that I’ve let it all go. I still brace myself if I ever have to talk to him about something.”

“I’m not asking you to be friends, or even like him,” Dagmar said. “I wouldn’t ask him along if you and I were studying together or something. I only want to be sure that me going with him doesn’t cost your friendship.”

“No.” Hermione paused, considering her. “Although. . .I would like to ask. Maybe I’m way off-base, and that’s fine, but I can’t really help trying to put two-and-two together. I’m sure you must know I’m aware Harry was sneaking around the dungeons Monday night in his invisibility cloak.”

Dagmar’s placid smile grew too heavy to hold in place. It slumped under the gravity of reemerged embarrassment. She’d done her best to try and forget that even happened, since she was certain now it wouldn’t again. She and Draco had stopped meeting after curfew like that since they no longer had a reason to.

“He’s mortified, by the way.” Hermione crossed her ankles. “He heard you two talking, and then the next day you’re going together. I have a feeling it’d already been going on.”

“I suppose there’s no point denying it,” Dagmar said with a shrug. It wasn’t like she had the option anymore to hide it after Potter stuck his nose where it didn’t belong. “Potter’s mortified?”

“He wasn’t aware.” Hermione scratched her cheek, looking somewhere between amused and annoyed. “Harry’s not. . .I mean, he’s smart in his own ways, but he’s about as perceptive sometimes as a flobberworm. When I pointed out to him the possibility you two may have been off alone as a couple, he realized how the whole thing may have appeared to you and Malfoy.”

“That’s. . .ja.” Dagmar kept her gaze where her fingers toyed with each other in her lap. “We _were_ just talking Monday night, but what I can’t get past is how he even knew we were there. Did he just stumble across us? I’d rather that than him having made a habit of it.”

“I can’t say too much about it, but he does have a way of knowing who’s where in the castle,” Hermione said. “He’d never gone down there before.”

“Well, that’s a relief.”

“If he had, he would’ve known about that one rogue cobblestone.” Hermione chuckled mirthlessly. “He said he tripped, and that’s when you and Malfoy went quiet.”

Dagmar nodded.

“Anyway, Harry can’t stomach the thought of you and Malfoy thinking he was peeping in. However much those two dislike each other, there are some lines you just don’t cross.”

“Ja.”

“Speaking of that, though. . .when I was reviewing Malfoy’s point deduction from that incident, there was no mention of the invisibility cloak being confiscated. I could understand the allure of keeping it since it’s a pretty neat thing, but it’s a family heirloom for Harry. It used to belong to his father.”

“Draco’s not keeping it,” Dagmar said. “He just wasn’t sure what to do. He handed it in to McGonagall this morning.”

“Okay, that’s fine.” Hermione looked relieved. “I meant to ask Malfoy, but. . .I don’t know, that’s a pretty awkward question. I’m glad I could ask you instead.”

* * *

While Harry was glad Hermione had managed to convey his regrets to Ramstad, it didn’t completely alleviate his frayed conscience. He felt beyond stupid to have never realized what was going on the few times he eavesdropped with the invisibility cloak. In hindsight, Malfoy and Ramstad weren’t just being silly as a break from their homework. They were flirting.

It was so obvious, Harry seriously wondered if he had what it took to be anything close to an Auror. If he couldn’t even tell that two people fancied each other, how would he separate dark wizards from good ones?

Even though Ramstad didn’t go into specifics, Hermione told Harry she suspected the two of them had been seeing each other since summer. Hermione had noticed their second day of lessons that Ramstad referred to Malfoy by his first name. The timing of them being under the same roof at Malfoy Manor, and then Malfoy and Parkinson’s split, was perhaps connected. If that was the case, Ron had said, then kudos to Ramstad for doing what nobody else could by straightening Malfoy out.

Whether or not Hermione grumbled about the implication it was a woman’s responsibility to fix such a broken man, Harry didn’t think Ramstad’s role in it could be ignored. Malfoy on his own wouldn’t dig himself out of the hole of prejudice he’d grown up in. What about that black eye Mr. Malfoy had given him right before the start of term? Malfoy wouldn’t have stood up to his father in a way to earn that, and he probably wouldn’t have been strong enough to stay the course afterward, for fear of being disowned. Snape gathered that regardless of Narcissa Malfoy sending weekly sweet packages to her son, their status as a family was best described as estranged.

And yet. . .looking at Malfoy now, Harry would’ve never guessed his home life collapsed. Malfoy’s schoolwork obviously hadn’t suffered, nor had his dedication to the Quidditch team. Even the way Malfoy moved nowadays was different, as if he’d been released from a heavy burden.

Because it was the week leading up to the first Quidditch game of the season, Harry had a hard time seeing a spare moment that lined up with Malfoy’s. Both Gryffindor and Slytherin had doubled the lengths of their practices, and booked the pitch every night. Harry figured that meant the conversation he wanted would have to wait until after the game. It was to his pleasant surprise (and great nerves) that he managed to spot Malfoy on his own in the library, Thursday afternoon.

Harry doubled-back to the aisle he’d seen him in. Malfoy glanced up from the book he flipped through. His expression wrinkled toward the old sneer he used to always wear. When Harry stopped beside him, Malfoy exhaled heavily through his nose.

“Potter,” he curtly greeted him.

“A word?”

“Didn’t Granger tell you I don’t have your cloak anymore?”

“I got the message.”

Malfoy stared determinedly at the page open across his arm, his lips pursed and gaze not moving. Harry made no sign of leaving, so Malfoy sighed again.

“What, then?” he asked.

“Let’s find somewhere more private.”

The main part of the library wasn’t conducive with students walking past, or Madam Pince coming by to either hush them or see what they were up to. Harry needed a table too. The study hall room was empty for now, so Harry jerked his head toward it.

Malfoy stood with his arms folded as Harry brought the currently-blank Marauder’s Map out of his cloak and spread it open across the room’s biggest table. He tapped it with his wand. “I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.”

Ink flowered out from the wand tip. When the criss-crossing lines began to form familiar corridors and rooms, Malfoy’s fixed expression relaxed. His lips parted as he leaned over the table, eyes darting.

“What is this?” he asked.

“It’s called the Marauder’s Map,” Harry told him. “My dad and his mates made it, back when they were our age.”

Malfoy strolled the length of the table, studying it. He stopped when he’d reached their location on the map, where two dots labelled _Harry Potter_ and _Draco Malfoy_ stood alone in the study hall room.

“Ramstad mentioned to Hermione she couldn’t see how I would’ve known where you were if I’d never been there before.” Harry’s stomach still retained a hint of nausea at the implication. “This is how. Yeah, there’s hundreds of dots, but it’s not as hard to see who’s where when everyone’s gone to bed. I saw you two down there. I was curious what you might be meeting about so late. Seeing as you and her are going together—well, I didn’t know. If I did, I wouldn’t have—you know. Sorry.”

Malfoy idly nodded. He glanced up, eyes narrowing again. “What could we possibly have been meeting about that would’ve been of interest to you?”

“Death Eater stuff.”

Malfoy scoffed. “Of course.”

That he looked amused could go either way. Blowing it off as a joke would be a good way for Malfoy to downplay Harry’s suspicions.

Malfoy looked at Harry again when he didn’t acknowledge his response. “Oh. You’re serious.”

“It can’t surprise you,” Harry said. “I don’t think I have to go into how the way you’ve always acted made it clear where your loyalties would line up if Voldemort—” (Malfoy flinched) “—came back. I know your dad’s a Death Eater. He was there the night Voldemort got his new body, and I ran into him in the Department of Mysteries the night Voldemort tried to take that prophecy about us. So, no. Not much of a leap.”

Whatever humour had briefly passed Malfoy over vanished. Harry wasn’t used to seeing him so uncomfortable, his face long and pale even for him. His lips worked and more than once his gaze darted toward the room’s exit.

“I don’t care about your dad,” Harry clarified. “I know what he is, and I wouldn’t ever expect you to tell me anything about him. He can’t get me—none of them can—until we’re done here in June. I’m just trying to find out about the meantime.”

“Is seeing my forearm what you’re after?” Malfoy asked. “I don’t have a Dark Mark.”

“Not really a good indicator.” Harry shrugged. “Why would Voldemort be stupid enough to send somebody here with one? Dead giveaway.”

Malfoy grunted. “Well, I don’t know how else you’d want me to prove anything. You wouldn’t take my word, I bet.”

“Why did your dad give you that black eye you had at the start of term?”

“How do you know—?”

“I have my sources,” Harry cut him off.

Malfoy’s discomfort deepened. Something new trickled into his disposition that Harry had never seen before: shame. Malfoy tried to hide it by assuming a passive expression, but Harry could see it in the way Malfoy’s shoulders tensed and he toed the floor.

“Told him I didn’t care about You-Know-Who’s business,” Malfoy grumbled. “Honestly thought he knew, since it’s not been since fourth year I even planned on staying in Britain once we’re done here. Didn’t think Snape would actually keep that to himself after careers advice.”

“For work, then?”

“Yeah.”

Harry found it kind of unbelievable that Malfoy would ever care to lift a finger for anything. Then again, this year had shown how well Malfoy _could_ do, when he put his mind to something.

“What do you want to do?” Harry asked.

Malfoy studied him. “Why do you care?”

“Curious what’s abroad that’s not here.” Harry folded his arms. “Only thing I ever imagined you caring enough to go for would be professional Quidditch. Or is it just a personal choice to leave the country?”

“I’ll tell you if you keep it to yourself,” Malfoy said. “It’s a highly competitive field, and I don’t want to look like a prat if I can’t get into it.”

“Fine,” Harry replied, knowing full well he’d probably inform everybody at the next Order meeting.

“I want to work with dragons.” Malfoy’s cheeks tinged pink. “They only take the best.”

“Makes sense, then, why you’ve probably studied more in the last two months than the last six years combined.”

Malfoy snorted, a ghost of his usual smirk surfacing. “Yeah, I need to pull up a little. Dagmar’s been helping me. Don’t need to worry about being a good enough flyer, at least. Dagmar’s teaching me Norwegian so I have a shot at Jotunheimen Reserve. That’d be my first choice, since Dagmar would love to live there again.”

His bubble of excitement popped as quickly as it had emerged. Whether because Malfoy thought he’d revealed too much, or just remembered that he and Harry had been bitter rivals ever since they first met, he retreated inside himself again. Reading between the lines, Harry would at least be able to confirm to Hermione that Malfoy and Ramstad had probably been keeping their relationship to themselves for a while now. They were already making plans together for beyond Hogwarts. Malfoy lowering his guard too had allowed Harry to see that his feelings for Ramstad went well beyond a simple fancy. Nobody lit up like that for someone they’d only been with for a week or two.

“Anyway.” Malfoy cleared his throat, awkward. “Got enough on my own plate to worry about anyone else’s business.”

Harry nodded distractedly. That he and Malfoy hadn’t interacted at all aside from the whole thing with his invisibility cloak spoke to that.

“Anyone else?” Harry asked. It was worth a shot to try.

Malfoy furrowed his brow. “What do you mean?”

“You’d know who else might’ve gotten in with Voldemort. Anyone acting off?”

Harry didn’t expect Malfoy to actually give the question any thought. He perched on the nearest desk, lips pursed.

“Slytherin house is definitely different this year, but not in that way,” he said. “I wouldn’t expect anything from Crabbe and Goyle. Their fathers defected this summer. Blaise doesn’t have any ties to You-Know-Who, and he told me not too long ago he’s thought for a while the whole blood purity thing is codswallop. Theo. . .I don’t know. He hasn’t struck me as interested in anything to do with that. You know our fathers know each other, but Theo and I don’t really talk about it.”

“Ramstad?”

Malfoy blinked, looking amused again. “You really have to ask?”

Harry shrugged. “There are rumours about her parents.”

“No,” Malfoy said. “She has absolutely no sympathies for that.”

Malfoy looked thoughtful enough about it that Harry resisted acknowledging that answer. It was a tactic Kingsley had told him about this summer, that sometimes leaving things open would compel someone to keep on.

“Have you ever been to Norway, Potter?” Malfoy asked.

Harry furrowed his brow. “No. Why?”

“Hm, not that it would matter much, I suppose, given you’re not a pureblood,” Malfoy said. “Dagmar grew up in that community in Bergen, and they’re different up there. They would never stand for someone like You-Know-Who. To them, purebloods have nothing to prove, so either You-Know-Who would be an embarrassment or somebody that clearly wasn’t pureblooded, if he needed to make a big deal out of it.”

As much as Harry wanted to stay quiet in order to keep Malfoy talking, he couldn’t resist contributing. “He’s only a half-blood, you know.”

Malfoy didn’t look as surprised by that as Harry expected he might be. “Dagmar was right, then. She didn’t think he was a pureblood. He just got them all whipped up into a frenzy for his own purpose.”

“Pretty much.”

It was actually to Harry’s disappointment that the bells in the clock tower began to chime with the end of afternoon classes. He didn’t think he could legitimately enjoy a conversation with Draco Malfoy, but this one came with great relief on Harry’s part. Malfoy seemed genuine and, if he was, then that meant there really were no dangers here at Hogwarts for Harry.

Malfoy pushed off the desk, his tone returning to one of casual boredom. “That was all you wanted, then?”

“Er—yeah.” Harry cleared the Marauder’s Map and began folding it back up. “Thanks.”

“Mhm.” Malfoy hesitated on his way back to the library. “See you Saturday.”

Harry looked up. To see the old signature Malfoy smirk made him snort to himself. “Sure.”

Mention of the Quidditch game in wake of this conversation instigated a flurry of nerves in Harry. One thing he hadn’t really considered when preparing the Gryffindor team to face Slytherin was what Malfoy’s waning reliance on nepotism might spell for their abilities on the pitch. There had been rumours back in September that Slytherin house was up in arms about a non-pureblood making it onto the team, as well as a bunch of girls. Other than Ron mentioning Mafalda Prewett was a relative of his through his mum, Harry hadn’t spared it much thought. It was always Harry’s belief that Quidditch should be about talent, not connections. Harry had never played a game against Slytherin where they truly showcased the former.

It was too late at this point, with less than forty-eight hours to go until the match, for Harry to factor that into Gryffindor’s preparations. Their team was strong, and Harry felt confident. This wasn’t the time to get psyched out just because it turned out Malfoy was capable of thinking and feeling like an actual human being.

Before Harry had a chance to forget any of the details Malfoy had just told him, he wanted to pass them on. Hermione would be closest, since History of Magic had just let out. It turned out to be the same direction Malfoy had gone. He and Ramstad walked back toward the library, her looking at Malfoy with an amused grin and him with his face screwed up like he was constipated. When Harry passed them by (neither noticed him), Ramstad was saying something slowly and deliberately that sounded to Harry like gibberish. Malfoy must have finally comprehended what she meant since, with a quiet exclamation of understanding, he said something back in much-shakier Norwegian.

Hermione wasn’t far behind them. She slowed to a stop as she and Harry met up.

“We should find Ron,” Harry said. “Got some stuff to tell you guys.”


	17. To Slaughter

Draco’s sleep on Saturday morning ended in a snap. He was instantly wide-awake with no hope of drifting back off. The dorm room was still dark without light to filter in from the lake’s shallows. Sure enough, the clock read barely past seven o’clock.

There were worse hours to wake at, Draco reasoned. When he quietly dressed to leave, he heard rustling from Blaise’s bed before the curtain opened.

Draco poked his head out. “Can’t sleep either?”

“No,” Blaise answered through a yawn. “Ready to get going.”

Draco waited for him before heading out to the common room. They sat together in front of the fire, greeting their teammates one by one as their sleep too was ended by anticipation. Time moved unnaturally slow. It felt to Draco like five hours had passed instead of one when they all decided to head down for breakfast at eight.

Only a couple fellow early-risers had beaten them there, a smattering across all four houses. The Great Hall started filling up while they ate, the very air buzzing with everyone’s anticipation toward the first Quidditch match of the year. The excitement culminated into an outburst of cheers every time someone on the Gryffindor team arrived. Finnigan and Thomas, their Beaters, hammed it up with wide grins. Ginny Weasley stilted at the wall of noise, and Potter and Weasley both looked just as embarrassed by it. It was a wonder the welcome didn’t knock Wolpert and the smaller Creevey boy beyond their arses and through the floor.

Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff showing their bias for the match’s outcome sparked an old and long-standing irritation within Draco. When he looked at the rest of the team, he could see the lack of support beyond their own table similarly lighting that thirst to prove themselves. It put Draco into enough of a mood that the remainder of his breakfast turned more into a mess on his plate than actual sustenance.

“Should we head down?” he finally said.

The rest of the team readily agreed. The Slytherin table lit up with whistles, clapping, and open palms pounding against the wood. It lessened Draco’s sense of resentment, but his determination to leave the other three houses behind on his way to the Quidditch Cup lingered like a burning inferno in his chest. He couldn’t even remain seated once he’d changed into his Quidditch gear. Draco paced, arms folded while he periodically checked the hallway separating their change room from the girls’. He waved Milly, Prewett, and Astoria in to join the rest of them when they were all ready.

“Let’s go over our strategy one more time,” Draco suggested. “Blaise?”

“Luca, Prewett, and I lob some easy shots at Weasley,” Blaise replied. “Get his defences down.”

“But nothing too obvious,” Luca added when Draco looked at him next. “Few tricky-looking shots, so he doesn’t think we’re playing with him.”

“Then, once he starts to ease up, hit hard,” Prewett concluded.

“Baddock?” Draco prompted him.

“Offence,” Baddock said. “Aim the bludgers for their Chasers when we’re moving the quaffle their way, to break up potential interception.”

“Defence, interrupt any passes on their way toward our end.” Milly’s heel tapped rapidly against the floor.

“I won’t let anything in,” Astoria concluded. “Do my best, anyway.”

A murmur grew beyond the change room as the stands filled. Draco wasn’t the only one pacing by the time he could lead them to the hallway mouth. He leaned against the wall as he scanned what he could see of the crowd. The majority of it wore scarlet and gold in support of Gryffindor. Draco honestly doubted that even a shut-out _season_ would change this. In fact, it might just make the rest of the school dislike Slytherin house even more.

Madam Hooch walked out to the centre of the pitch, the box of game balls levitating in front of her. The crowd lit up for her, ramping up again as Draco led his team out. Potter and his came from the opposite end.

“Captains, shake hands,” Madam Hooch brusquely told them. Draco shifted his broom to his left hand so that he could extend his right. Potter gripped Draco’s hand just as firmly, expression set with the same seriousness Draco encountered on the pitch many times before. Draco couldn’t suppress a smirk at the mental image of how that dignified composure would rot if his team pulled off their lofty goal for the game.

Draco left everything on the ground, spare his determination to come historically ahead with this match. He rose quickly on his Firebolt, which at this point after so much flying practice felt like an extension of his body. Like Potter opposite, Draco circled the pitch slowly, gaze darting this way and that for the signature, golden glint. The week of rain leading up to the match had finally cleared for some sunshine, which was frustrating for Draco. Watches worn by the spectators glinted the same way the snitch did, although not as brightly.

“. . .That’s Zabini with the quaffle, Parasca, Zabini, Prewett,” the commentator rapidly dictated. “Parasca—oh, nice dodge there from the bludger, courtesy of Finnigan—takes the shot— _saved!_ ”

The spectators lit up again, feet pounding in the stands. Draco himself grinned, for he could already see the rest of the school’s part to play in Slytherin’s plan coming to fruition. Weasley saved the first attempt to score, and the crowd rewarded him for that. If he was as predictable as the last two seasons, Draco would see his attempts to stop the quaffle grow increasingly careless. It was already there by the looks of it, when Draco broke his search for the snitch to study Weasley while passing behind the Gryffindor goalposts. It tickled Draco that Weasley spared him a glance back over his shoulder. He probably expected Draco to say something, which made it all the more difficult not to.

Blaise, Luca, and Prewett let Weasley off a few more times before Prewett scored the first goal of the game. The next half hour was a slow-build through which the quaffle at least stayed in Gryffindor’s half of the pitch. Milly and Baddock did excellent work throwing Creevey and Wolpert off balance, although Ginny Weasley had a bit more nerve. Draco spared a laugh on Wolpert’s behalf when Weasley tossed him the quaffle, but Luca intercepted it so quickly Wolpert started searching his immediate area for where it had gone. He’d barely started back toward the Gryffindor posts when Blaise scored again, putting them at 50-0.

So far, so good. Blaise passed Draco by as the field reset, catching his eye long enough to touch two fingers to the tip of his nose. Draco lifted his jaw in acknowledgement, smirk reemerging. Luca had scored before another minute could pass.

The crowd grew increasingly quiet as slow realization dawned. Even the commentator sounded slightly anxious in the way he laughed after saying ‘seems like Slytherin caught their stride’. 100-0 passed only forty minutes into the match.

“Eyes are all on Potter now, to find that snitch. . .”

At this point, the Slytherin team had made it clear that was Gryffindor’s only hope. If they wanted to win at all, Potter needed to make it quick. At this rate, a victory would be impossible for them within the next ten minutes. Draco was satisfied by that, but it wasn’t enough. He wanted it all.

Draco jumped into a dive. He’d caught a glimpse of gold trolling along down near the base of the stands. Potter had started toward it about a half-second earlier, which, while not much, still counted on a Firebolt. All the emotion of the game drained from Draco like a trail in his wake as he focused entirely on the snitch.

It was closer to Draco. When Draco was about fifty feet away, it took off skyward. Draco’s toes nearly grazed one of the stands as he pulled up after it, the noise below dropping away as he and Potter ran neck-and-neck. The snitch changed trajectory again, this time toward Draco. Potter’s broom tail swung toward the sun as he turned around. Draco took off in a slightly different direction. Potter followed him into the dive long enough for the snitch to have made a successful escape. Far as Draco could tell, Potter didn’t even realize he’d been tricked.

The score was 140-0 when Draco resumed his trolling pace around the pitch. He was close enough to the stands to see the spectators’ reactions thus far. There was a lot of silence from those sporting Gryffindor’s colours, some watching the match either with their hands on their faces, or going so far as to only watch through their fingers. Those ones would bury their eyes against their palms when, yet again, Blaise, Luca, and Prewett advanced on Weasley.

“One-fifty to nothing!” the commentator announced. “That’s it, Potter has to get the snitch now if Gryffindor even wants to tie. Are the kitchens feeding us what the Slytherins have been eating?”

Draco laughed at that one, but it was cut short as he wound up in another sprint across the pitch. He’d noticed the snitch before Potter, since it was to his rear.

The snitch took off again, and, through all the maneuvers Draco and Potter took after it, Potter had caught right up. It wasn’t soon enough according to the team’s strategy, but that Potter wouldn’t relent this time threatened what Slytherin wanted to do. Motion sickness was returning to Draco the longer it went on, and he didn’t know how much more he could handle before having to pull off the chase.

At least he wasn’t the only one. The amount of twists, turns, and spins had impacted Potter as well. Draco couldn’t let up now.

The snitch took a hard left as it skimmed about three feet above the ground. Draco lunged for it, and a new, worse type of sickening feeling overtook him. He briefly floated. Something slammed into him, then the spinning ran out of his control. When he finally came to a stop, Draco faced the sky. The few clouds—or maybe it was just one, Draco couldn’t tell—skimmed back and forth in his vision. Draco blinked, stunned. His heart sank. No doubt any second now, the crowd would light up in celebration of Potter catching the snitch.

Something fluttered against Draco’s fingers. As he registered that, so he also did a round object firmly grasped in his hand. He held it aloft.

“That’s it!” the commentator yelled. “Malfoy’s got the snitch! Final score, three-eighty to ten!”

“Damn,” Draco whispered to himself, but the section of stands to his left roared with excitement. His sense of orientation worsened because he’d thought the Slytherins to be behind his head somewhere. Draco’s body protested against him standing up. He didn’t know how far he’d skipped across the pitch like a stone on the lake, but the ground definitely won.

Baddock landed beside him first, grin huge. “You ate _turf_ , mate!”

Blaise’s face appeared next as he leaned over Draco. “Need a hand?”

“I might toss,” Draco warned him.

“S’fine, Potter’s doing the same over there.” Blaise jerked his head with a glance to the right. “And I doubt it’s just because he’s dizzy.”

Draco reeled when Blaise helped him sit upright and, sure enough, the dregs of his breakfast landed on the pitch beside him. The rest of the team groaned, but Draco at least felt good enough then to stand up. The vertigo persisted, which forced him to lean on Blaise.

“You might as well come up to the hospital wing,” Blaise said. “We gotta go anyway. Luca took a bludger to the face near the end there, broke his nose.”

“Da, but oh well.” Luca grinned despite his black eyes and the blood trailing down his chin. He sounded congested. “It was word it. I can’d belieb we bead them thad bad.”

“I can.” Milly pulled Draco’s other arm around her shoulders to lighten Blaise’s load. “That’s what they get for underestimating us.”

Madam Pomfrey was her usual cheerful self when the seven of them came into the hospital wing. She very tersely shoved a yellowish drink into Draco’s hands that wrinkled his entire face from how strongly the smell of ginger came off it. It was to the point of spicy, and burned his throat going down. His vertigo at least immediately stopped, and Draco certainly could’ve had it worse. Madam Pomfrey flung the curtain shut around the bed Luca sat on, told him to hold still, and a sharp cry made everyone jump before he went as abruptly quiet. Luca grimaced, rubbing his nose, when Madam Pomfrey opened the curtain again.

Draco looked around the hospital wing. “No Gryffindors had to come in?”

“Nah.” Prewett waved it off. “We didn’t do anything worth a penalty.”

“‘Good clean game’,” Astoria mimicked Madam Hooch’s strict tone. “Still. . .sorry guys, I let that one in. So much for our shut-out.”

“S’all right,” Milly reassured her. “In a way, three-eighty ten is worse for Gryffindor than three-eighty nothing. Means they were actually trying.”

The seven of them laughed, Prewett putting her arm around Astoria in a brief sideways hug.

“That really was incredible,” Draco told them all. “I’m a little in shock. Doesn’t help I missed the last. . .however long that was.”

“Fifteen minutes or so.”

Madam Pomfrey wouldn’t let Draco leave until he’d finished the entire drink she gave him, plus another one that would ease up the various aches riddling his body. If it hadn’t been raining all week Draco figured he’d be spending the night in the hospital wing recovering from far worse.

Whatever way it had happened, it was worth the wall of noise that greeted them when they stepped into the Slytherin common room. So many hands pat Draco on the back and shoulders that he had no idea who they all belonged to. He heard Theo yell overtop the rabble (“Put that one in the bloody history books!”), but couldn’t see him through the crowd.

It all retreated into a hush when Draco finally locked eyes on Dagmar. She glowed with pride, her grin wide as it could go. That brought it home. Draco had never worked harder for anything in his life, and look what he could accomplish. It hit Draco in a euphoric flurry. He dashed the remaining distance between them and picked Dagmar up. She laughed next to Draco’s ear, arms tight around his neck as he spun her. Draco matched her grin when she pulled back enough to see his face again, his very soul humming when she pressed their lips together.

“You were brilliant,” she whispered in his ear in Norwegian, her Rs trilling.

Draco set her back down and had to hold her hand to avoid losing her in the packed common room. People at least stopped crowding Draco eventually, along with the rest of the team. The seven of them took up the seats closest to the roaring fire, where a spread of food had appeared on the table. After going light on breakfast and then feeding on so much adrenaline, Draco was starving.

Before he could sit after taking a mouthful of cracker with peanut butter, Dagmar ruffled Draco’s hair. A plume of dirt appeared in front of his face, Dagmar’s nose wrinkling with it.

“You’re filthy,” she told him. “You ought to go hose off.”

“Coming with?”

Beside them, Prewett coughed. Her face started to turn colour more to match her hair as she reached for a glass of water.

Dagmar raised her eyebrows at Draco, amused, but she spared him a lingering kiss. “I’ll be here when you’re done.”

* * *

Along with most of Slytherin house, Dagmar didn’t bother leaving the common room once they’d all reconvened there after the game. By the time Draco returned from his shower, the team had drifted apart to their usual social circles. Since Draco, Blaise, Luca, and Milly all belonged to the same one, they essentially held a claim on the best spot in the common room. Dagmar joined them there, along with Theo and Daphne.

Whenever the food got low, someone would cast a spell to multiply what remained. Dagmar wasn’t sure she’d eat another bite for the day past three o’clock in the afternoon, but everyone’s attention soon shifted to the various bottles of liquor that seemed to appear out of nowhere.

Dagmar forgot how Draco behaved when drunk. It started with rosy cheeks and an unrelenting grin, but the way he started looking at Dagmar with a softened expression hinted at the affection that would soon follow. Sure enough, Draco wasn’t content unless she was right beside him. He tried a couple times to pull her into his lap, Dagmar eventually relenting.

Draco settled with his arms around Dagmar’s middle while he nuzzled her shoulder. “I love you.”

Theo snorted on the neighbouring couch. “Uh oh.”

Dagmar pat Draco’s forearms where they crossed her stomach. “Okay, hjertet mitt.”

“Well, don’t you love _me?_ ”

“Of course.”

Theo stood up. While tipsy, he hadn’t gotten quite as carried away. “Sounds like someone’s ready to be put to bed, huh Dagmar?”

“Ja, I think he’s ready.”

Draco’s arms tightened around Dagmar’s middle. “But it’s not even midnight.”

It didn’t help that the majority of Slytherin still celebrated as well. Dagmar removed herself from Draco’s grip and pulled him up off the couch with Theo’s help. Daphne followed along just in case she was needed to pry Draco’s fingers off the dorm’s doorframe (“Where the hell did Blaise and Luca go?” Theo grunted as the three of them encouraged Draco down the hall). At least once they got him to his bed, Draco accepted it. Dagmar told Theo and Daphne she could handle him from there.

Draco sat on the edge of his bed with his arms crossed. “I’m _not_ going to sleep.”

Dagmar pulled back the blanket as far as she could, to where it was pinched under Draco’s bum. “Let’s get you undressed.”

“I wanna go back out to the common room.”

“Not tonight.”

To Draco’s credit, he only heaved a sigh rather than try to make a run for it. When Dagmar asked him to lift his arms so she could remove his shirt, he complied. She kissed the top of his head afterward.

“Why wouldn’t you say you loved me?” he asked.

“We’ll talk about it when you’re sober.” Dagmar sat down beside him. “Not because I don’t. I hope that’s not what you think.”

“Just would’ve liked to hear it.”

Dagmar put an arm around him and kissed his temple. “I love you. Go pee, and then we’ll finish getting you undressed.”

Draco took his time. He didn’t look much happier when he returned. “You’re gonna leave, aren’t you?”

“Er, nei, I don’t have to.” Dagmar helped him step out of his trousers. “I’ll lay down with you.”

Dagmar couldn’t (and wouldn’t) stay the night in the boys’ dorm. She felt bad to lie, especially when Draco already wasn’t completely happy with her, but she could at least try to make him feel better before he drifted off. Once they laid together under his blanket, it was easy to encourage him back toward a cuddly mood. When Draco fell asleep, it was all at once with hardly any preamble. He was like a rock when Dagmar tried to untangle herself.

Theo and Daphne still sat down in the common room. They watched her cross over to the girls’ dorms. Daphne came in as Dagmar was finishing up in the bathroom. Milly and Pansy’s beds were still empty.

“How’s Draco doing?” Daphne asked.

“He’ll be sick tomorrow,” Dagmar replied with a glance in her direction. “By the way, I know what you’re thinking. That wasn’t the first time he told me he loved me.”

“Oh, that’s good.” Daphne chuckled as she sat on the end of Dagmar’s bed. “Otherwise. . .quite the thing to just drop on you like that.”

“Ja.”

Daphne still looked in thought. “Did you just say ‘of course’ to try and get him to stop, or do you actually love him? I don’t mean to judge or pry or anything, just curious if you two really got on that fast.”

“I do,” Dagmar said. “Those feelings were there before we got together. Once we did, everything just fell into place.”

“Aw, I get that. It’s like you make up for lost time.”

The common room was practically deserted, the next morning. Since Theo told Dagmar on his and Daphne’s way to breakfast that Draco was still out cold, Dagmar set up in the common room instead of the library to pick away at her homework.

It was close to ten o’clock before Draco finally emerged. He’d certainly seen better days. He was as pale as Dagmar had ever seen him, and his hair had gone wild since he didn’t bother to comb it. Draco looked about ready to fall back asleep or throw up—maybe both.

He veered off-course from the common room exit when Dagmar called out to him. Draco pressed the heel of his palm into one of his baggy eyes as he sat down beside her.

Dagmar ran her fingers through his hair. “Feeling pretty sick?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh well, so long as it was worth it.” Dagmar held his jaw as she kissed his cheek. “Hungry?”

“Starving.” Draco managed a smile with the affection, visibly relaxing. “You?”

“Ja, but I was waiting for you.”

Dagmar gathered all her homework and nipped into the dorm to put it away. Draco waited for her with his hands in his pockets, looking pale and tired again, but he brightened when Dagmar’s fingers slipped through his.

Draco seemed to debate with himself out in the corridor. “To be honest, I thought you were going to be mad at me about last night.”

“Nei.” Dagmar waved it off with her free hand. “I think it was pretty standard a night, as far as babysitting someone drunk goes. You had a good reason to celebrate. If you did this every weekend I’d probably get sick of it, but once in a while is fine.”

“I was being a prat about you staying with me in the dorm. I knew you couldn’t.”

“It’s okay.” Dagmar squeezed his hand. “If I could, I would’ve taken you to the Room of Requirement. There’s no way I’d have been able to sneak you out of the common room without drawing questions, though. I’m going to be selfish about the Room. Sorry, Daphne and Theo, and anyone else who might enjoy it if they knew about it.”

“Would that have been any worse than me going on about wanting you to tell me you loved me?”

“I told Daphne it wasn’t the first time you’d told me that, and that I do love you. Maybe it wasn’t the most ideal way for our closest friends to learn, but at least it’s all out there now. There’s nothing left to hide.”

“Other than how it all began, I suppose.”

“Ja. . .”

“It’s not necessary anyway.” Draco briefly nuzzled her shoulder. “We never had to explain why we’d be drawn to each other. I haven’t had a single person be skeptical of that. Have you?”

Dagmar shook her head, but paused in thought. “Would you have preferred it happened the way they think it did?”

“What do you mean?”

“As far as everyone but Blaise knows, you had a massive change of heart over the summer. Your focus on your studies put us in contact, and since I wouldn’t put you back into study hall, we started spending the time together necessary for those feelings to spark. Now here we are.” Dagmar swung their hands high enough for them to be visible in their lines of vision. “Our parents giving us the nudge kind of cheapens our natural chemistry, in a way.”

“You think that?”

“Well, I’m asking if you do.”

“I. . .don’t know.” Draco scratched his head. “I haven’t really thought about it. I’m just enjoying being able to be together at all, while we’re here.”

Dagmar nodded slowly. Maybe Draco didn’t consciously think about it, but she had a feeling it was a factor on why them becoming a public couple didn’t magically erase all of his insecurities. Dagmar wasn’t shy to the fact that putting it off so long had done some unintentional damage. She would be able to make that up with time, but what was there to do about the literal foundation of their relationship?

“ _Do_ you think it cheapens this?” Draco asked.

“Nei,” Dagmar said. “We could talk about it after breakfast, though, if you’d like. I’d like to, since maybe there are some things to clear up anyway.”

“I might feel more up to it after eating, but I’ll warn you I’m definitely not running at a hundred percent today.”

Endeared, Dagmar stopped them in the Entrance Hall to steal a kiss. “That’s okay, then. I want to spend the day with you regardless, but we could do something else that takes less energy.”

“What’re you thinking?”

The nature of which they used to ask each other that over the summer made Dagmar break into a slow grin, to which Draco snorted. The way he bowed his head with it put his forehead against Dagmar’s. Draco didn’t seem too opposed to some light snogging before they carried on, especially when Dagmar stroked his cheek with her thumb.

Daphne and Theo were still in the Great Hall when Dagmar and Draco got there.

“Well there’s our little Romeo,” Theo teased Draco. “Blaise still in bed when you got up?”

“Snoring away,” Draco replied.

After he’d eaten enough bacon, eggs, and sausages to fill his stomach, Draco rested his head on Dagmar’s shoulder and closed his eyes. Dagmar could feel his head growing heavier as his breath slowed and evened. He would inhale deeply whenever Dagmar either caressed his cheek or nuzzled his hair.

A note landed in front of him, compelling Dagmar to shrug her shoulder hard enough to make him sit upright again. He rubbed his eyes.

“Something’s come for you,” Dagmar told him.

Draco unfolded the note. Dagmar read it over his shoulder:

_Mr. Malfoy,_

_If you would be so kind, as well as the rest of the Slytherin Quidditch team (I have sent them similar notes), please meet me at noon in my office at the pitch._

_Madam Hooch_

“That’s weird,” Draco commented as he folded it back up. “Wonder what for.”

Mafalda and Baddock came down the table to touch base, but all Draco could do was shrug. Now that Draco had somewhere to be in not too long, Dagmar made herself comfortable at the Slytherin table with a cup of coffee. Blaise showed up shortly after eleven, grunting when Draco asked if he’d received his note from Madam Hooch. Luca was equally unresponsive, as was Milly when she dropped down beside Daphne on the other side of the table. Astoria was her usual perky self when she came by to ask about the note.

“Were you staying here, then?” Draco asked Dagmar as the lot of them stood to leave at ten-to-twelve.

“I’ll come along.” Dagmar didn’t much feel like being too far away from him today. “I wouldn’t mind finding Heimr and seeing what he’s up to.”

While the last few days was the longest Dagmar had gone without seeing Heimdall, it wasn’t entirely uncommon. Heimdall had proven himself to be an efficient hunter, and even better at maintaining his territory. Draco’s Care of Magical Creatures class bore witness to one such fight which, Draco had told Dagmar while trying to hide a cheeky grin, had been with Crookshanks. Both cats sent fur flying. In the end, Heimdall stood his ground, fur standing straight out and ears back as he let out a god-awful hiss. Crookshanks had dashed off into the forest.

None of that aggression was visible when Heimdall appeared amongst the underbrush in answer to Dagmar’s whistle. His legs nearly blurred from the speed he approached at. Once he neared, he slowed down and then walked away when Dagmar tried to pet him. After he’d played it cool long enough, he let her pick him up.

“Stinky boy,” she told him in Norwegian. “Naughty boy.”

Dagmar migrated back toward the Quidditch pitch. She wasn’t sure exactly where Madam Hooch’s office was, but she took refuge inside anyway since she hadn’t come up from the dungeons that morning dressed for cold weather. Dagmar sat down in a hallway with Heimdall until she heard voices off a ways. She followed them until they disappeared, then headed for the next exit. Sure enough, Draco was outside, looking toward the forest for her. The rest of the team lingered.

They all looked somewhere between annoyed and amused as Dagmar approached. Heimdall headed back for the forest, low to the ground.

“What was that about?” she asked.

Draco scoffed with a quick roll of his eyes. “We just got tested for performance enhancement.”

“Really?” Dagmar furrowed her brow.

“Guess we did _that_ good.” Astoria shrugged, a grin manifesting. “Madam Hooch wouldn’t say who, but that there’d been a big enough complaint lodged she had to look into it. I’ll take the compliment.”

Baddock and Prewett nodded along, but the others didn’t look quite so sure. They all went their separate ways, Blaise tagging along with Draco and Dagmar on their way back up to the castle.

“How do you even get tested for that?” Dagmar asked.

“She gave us something to drink, then asked us some questions about whether or not we’d cheated for the game,” Draco replied. “Veritaserum was in there, I would guess.”

“You think so?” Blaise asked. “I didn’t feel compelled to tell the truth, not that we had any reason to lie.”

“Maybe not, then.” Draco shrugged. “Whatever _was_ in that potion made my bladder feel like a balloon, though, I tell you. I can already feel it coming again.”

“Diuretic Potion, or something.”

“She said the only substances she could find in any of our urine was alcohol and caffeine. No Felix Felicis, or anything like that.”

“When would you have even had time to brew that?” Dagmar asked. “It’s one of the potions our class is making from scratch, isn’t it? Snape said all of them had long brewing times.”

“Well, you know Slytherin house,” Draco replied in a snide tone. “We’ll do anything to get ahead without actually putting in the work.”

“No, that might make us something respectable, like Gryffindors.” Blaise rolled his eyes as well.

“It _does_ get old sometimes, doesn’t it?” Dagmar asked.

While initially annoyed on Draco’s behalf for someone to have tried to cheapen his victory, Dagmar was starting to feel it more personally now. The other three houses clearly resented just how well Slytherin had done. Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff did their absolute best to pretend that anyone seated at the Slytherin table didn’t exist this morning. No one even looked in their direction if the celebratory mood burst out again. No doubt, conversations about the game ended in the aisle separating Slytherin table from the Hufflepuffs and beyond.

As Dagmar, Draco, and Blaise stepped into the castle, Potter and Weasley were coming out of the Great Hall. Weasley’s face flashed pale, purple, and then ultimately a shade of red close to his hair. Potter averted his gaze as well, as the two of them headed toward the staircase.

“Hey, Potter,” Draco called out to him. Every other student present in the Entrance Hall promptly ended their own conversations. Potter himself came to a stop with his foot on the bottom step. “I’ll spare you having to catch up with Madam Hooch. It was a clean match.”

Potter blinked, his brow low. “What’re you on about, Malfoy?”

“Oh, you mean that _wasn’t_ you that complained we must have cheated?” Draco replied in sarcastic surprise. “You know, I didn’t have anything bad to say about how Gryffindor played yesterday. We played to your weaknesses, and our Keeper is damn good this year. Either one of us could’ve caught the snitch. Now I feel embarrassed for you. Someone somewhere thinks you played so badly we must have all knocked back a vial of Felix Felicis before the match. Shame they complained, really, because now you’ve got no choice but to admit that the worst defeat Gryffindor has _ever_ suffered was fair and square.”

The few Slytherins present in the Entrance Hall tittered. Everyone else looked uncomfortable as they turned their gazes back to Potter. He just stared at Draco before shaking his head and carrying on up the stairs.

Before Draco could open his mouth again, Dagmar turned him more toward her. “That’ll sting a while.”

Draco looked after Potter, tempted to carry on, but he resigned to huff. “Good.”


	18. Blaise's Secret

The truth about whoever complained eventually reached Draco. Whether or not Potter did, many others certainly had. Blaise, Luca, and Prewett must have just been moving too fast for the spectators to see their fumbles. Milly and Baddock’s misses were usually close enough to throw off the less-experienced players on Gryffindor. Sometimes even missing the bludger altogether went in their favour, since the other players braced in anticipation. With Draco, the contention was how he caught the snitch. He’d certainly managed, but it wasn’t a graceful catch. He fell off his broom. Had the snitch darted the other way, it would’ve been Potter’s for much less effort.

Draco didn’t want to downplay their efforts, but he didn’t want to get too comfortable either. The team didn’t bother with their Sunday practice since it was so soon in the wake of their victory (plus the majority of them were hungover), so the next time they reconvened was Wednesday. While it started all right, Draco noticed he was getting less than could be expected from Blaise and Luca. They were fine with the team as a whole. They just fell short when doing Chaser exercises with Prewett.

Prewett caught Draco’s eye a couple times, and looked relieved when he pulled Blaise and Luca off to the side. She nodded when told to try and score on Astoria.

“What’s up with you two?” Draco asked. “Putting it rather bluntly, you suck today.”

They exchanged quick glances.

“Sorry,” Blaise said. “We’ll get our heads back into it.”

“Da,” Luca quietly agreed. “Sorry.”

It didn’t get any better. Draco could tell they were trying, but it was like they had lost the natural flow that made them such formidable Chasers in the first place. Baddock was quick to leave the change room after practice. He said his new girlfriend was waiting for him, but Draco figured he could tell that more needed to be said to Blaise and Luca about their performance.

“Is the win getting to your heads?” Draco crossed his arms, “or that we’re not playing again until the end of February? We can’t let off, even if we keep our lead for the Cup after Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw play. I thought you were just as hungry as the rest of us.”

Blaise’s jaw set, his dark eyes narrowing. “Of course we are.”

“I didn’t see it today,” Draco said. “I don’t know what’s going on with you two, but sort it out before Sunday.”

Luca’s head remained bowed, his expression downcast as Draco left them alone. Draco hadn’t meant to hurt his feelings. As Captain, what else could he do, though, when two of his Chasers had mentally clocked out?

The tension carried over to dinner. Draco didn’t linger at the Slytherin table once he and Dagmar were finished. Dagmar squeezed his hand as they headed down into the dungeons to grab his bag. “Did practice go okay?”

Draco shrugged. “Not our best. Blaise and Luca were just. . .off.”

Blaise, of course, was mercurial on the best of days. He tended toward serious and quiet. Luca was the opposite. He was usually quite happy-go-lucky. It showed when he’d broken his nose during the match with Gryffindor, and even a few weeks back when he’d gotten burned in Care of Magical Creatures. Draco escorted him to the hospital wing, since he’d never been there before. Once the burn was treated, Luca returned to his normally perky self while they meandered back out to the firedrake enclosure. He was fine to stay late after class to make up for his absence. For Luca to lose that, Draco wondered if maybe something in his personal life affected his playing. Luca wore his heart on his sleeve, so it was weird this one might stay private.

“I might have been too hard on Luca,” Draco said as regret tugged at his conscience. “He’s not really like Blaise. When I tell Blaise he sucks, he gets pissed off and tries to prove otherwise. Luca’s a little softer. Nothing wrong with that, doesn’t mean he’s not talented, but it’s something to take into consideration when trying to motivate him.”

Dagmar touched the side of her head to Draco’s shoulder. “Mhm.”

“I’ll give it until Sunday,” Draco decided. “If there’s a repeat, I’ll pull them both aside again and see if maybe they need a mate more than a Captain. At least we’ve got another couple months until the next game.”

“Exactly.” Dagmar squeezed his hand again. “You can’t always run them like machines.”

Draco committed to giving them space. He didn’t see Blaise or Luca again that evening, since he and Dagmar spent it in the library volleying between Polyjuice Potion research and a particularly brutal essay about self-transfiguration. Blaise was asleep by the time Draco came in after last curfew check. He could be avoided in Potions and Herbology as well now, since Blaise had swapped stations with Dagmar to spare her of awkwardness with Macmillan. Things felt mostly normal at lunchtime, although Luca was absent from his usual spot at the Slytherin table. Draco headed to the library for the afternoon, and glimpsed Blaise again after History of Magic when he met Dagmar outside Binns’ classroom.

“Oh!” Dagmar stepped away from Draco in the corridor. “You’re dripping something.”

Draco cursed under his breath at the sight of ink sprawling over the bottom corner of his bag. “I had a feeling that stopper might not seat right.”

Dagmar helped Draco clean himself up, even if it made her a little late for study hall. There was no way Madam Pince would have anything short of an infarction if Draco had entered the library like that. Even when he walked in clean, Madam Pince looked in his direction as if she could sense the mess her library had been spared.

There was enough ink left in the bottle for Draco to add an inch to McGonagall’s essay. He dipped into study hall quickly to see if Dagmar had any ink he could borrow, but she’d started on her backup bottle during History of Magic. Draco sighed to himself as he resigned to pack up all his stuff so that he could fetch some from the dorm.

He’d hit a place in his essay where he wasn’t sure how to transition into the next point he wanted to make. Draco puzzled it out on his way. When he let himself into the dorm, however, all thoughts of McGonagall’s essay departed from his mind (along with perhaps part of his soul) as he registered just what he was seeing.

Blaise and Luca were down to their shirts, although one tie had hit the floor. Their hands were all over each other on Blaise’s bed. Blaise’s mouth was latched onto Luca’s neck. Draco wasn’t even aware enough of himself to know if he’d made a peep beyond opening the door, but Luca let out a strangled cry of surprise and pushed Blaise away when his gaze locked with Draco’s. They both looked at him with wide eyes, their swollen mouths agape.

“I’ll come back later,” Draco managed before turning on his heel.

He closed the door softly behind him. Draco shook his head with a heavy blink before carrying on.

As Draco approached the library entrance, he realized he still didn’t have any ink. It had left his mind too. With a sigh, Draco doubled back toward the Entrance Hall.

His stomach sank involuntarily when, as he passed the steps leading down to the dungeons, Blaise was just coming up. He’d put himself back together. Were it not for the kneazle-in-wandlight expression on Blaise’s face, Draco might have almost managed to convince himself that what just happened didn’t.

“Where’re _you_ going?” Blaise asked in what came off as an accusatory tone.

“Er. . .” Draco readjusted his bag’s strap on his shoulder. “Thinking about going down to check on Jormundr. His scales started coming in and it’s rather uncomfortable for them, so. . .”

Blaise nodded. “I’ll come with you.”

Draco didn’t know what to say. There was a lot to unpack that he’d just learned about his best mate. While Blaise had poked around with Draco since the beginning of the year, trying to find out where his cards laid, Blaise hadn’t been very forthcoming in return. This more than made up for it, Draco supposed. He just wished it happened literally any other way.

Blaise spoke when they were far enough away from any other students: “Please don’t tell Dagmar.”

“Dagmar?” Draco stopped walking. “You can’t be serious. I just—two of our mates, my Chasers. . .”

Draco gestured weakly toward the castle, his arm falling back heavily to his side.

Blaise rubbed his neck, head bowed. It wasn’t often Draco saw him stressed, at least not like this.

“She won’t tell anyone, if that’s what you’re concerned about,” Draco said. “I won’t tell anyone either, if it’s meant to be a secret.”

“I don’t know.” Blaise’s already-dark skin darkened further. “That’s not what I’m worried about. Well—that too, but not as much. With our old arrangement, I’m just not sure what she’d think, or how she’d feel.”

Defensiveness rose in Draco’s chest on Dagmar’s behalf. “Did you realize back then?”

Blaise’s bottom lip disappeared, and he wouldn’t look Draco in the eye.

“How _long_ have you known?” Draco changed the question. “But you would’ve married her anyway. You made a big stink—”

“I know,” Blaise cut him off. “You don’t get it. She wouldn’t either, if she heard it from you.”

“Then I guess you better tell her before I do.”

Blaise frowned. “Just stay out of it, Draco. It’s between me and her what happened back then. Just because you’re involved now doesn’t mean you have any say on anything before summer.”

“This isn’t happening before summer. It’s happening _now_ ,” Draco said. “And that’s very much my business when it comes to her. You didn’t treat her fairly at all. You knew you could never give her anything like what she wanted, and yet you put her on a big guilt trip when she told you it was over. That _did_ affect me, I’ll have you know. I didn’t see her for two weeks after that because she was so upset.”

“So was I!”

“Could’ve fooled me!” Draco snapped. “You wanna snog boys, I don’t care. But you toyed with her—you would’ve toyed with her _life_ if things didn’t happen to get juggled up. Doesn’t that bother you?”

“Yes!”

Their voices had come up loudly enough for some of their peers to taper off on their own conversations at a distance. Aside from that, Draco lost steam as Blaise’s eyes took on a shine to them. He inhaled unevenly, throat working. He wouldn’t look at Draco again. “I have to go.”

Draco watched after him. “Blaise.”

Blaise hesitantly stopped and looked back.

“You tell her,” Draco said. “I mean it.”

From enough of a distance, Draco couldn’t tell if Blaise glared or if his despondency had only worsened. He kept on toward the castle. Draco felt bad for making the ultimatum, but what else was he supposed to do? Dagmar was going to be Draco’s wife someday. His loyalty was to her first, regardless of how entangled Blaise was in their lives. Just because Draco and Blaise had known each other longer than Blaise lied to Dagmar, didn’t mean Draco was going to keep it going. He wouldn’t be dragged down with him.

* * *

Dagmar habitually scanned the library for Draco after study hall let out at five. He was sitting at their usual table, holding his forehead with one hand as he focused. His brow furrowed as well. Dagmar jumped along with him when she laid a hand on his shoulder.

“Sorry,” Dagmar whispered. Draco relaxed quickly at the realization it was her, so Dagmar put her arms around his shoulders from behind and quietly kissed his temple. “Still working on McGonagall’s essay?”

Draco sighed, running his hand over Dagmar’s forearm. “Yeah.”

“Me too.” Dagmar kissed his cheek this time. “Why don’t we get some dinner, take a break, then wrap it up afterward? I’ll feel a lot better once it’s off my mind.”

“Same.”

Dagmar wrapped her arms around Draco’s closest one as they headed off. They hadn’t made it far from the library before she sensed something amiss. Draco usually wasn’t so quiet.

“Everything okay?” she prompted him.

“Er—yeah.” Draco cleared his throat and rubbed his eyes with his free hand. “I’m wiped. I wouldn’t be surprised I went cross-eyed from staring at so much parchment today.”

“We could always take the night off,” Dagmar offered. “The Transfiguration homework isn’t even due until next Wednesday.”

“Meh.”

Dagmar had noticed since Slytherin beat Gryffindor that Draco doubled-down on his studying. She suspected he took it to heart that nobody beyond his own house thought him capable of achieving something without cheating.

“How many inches do you have left?” Dagmar tried a different approach.

“Six or so. Eight at most.”

“That should be doable tonight,” Dagmar said. “How about we just get that essay out of the way, and then take it easy? You don’t want to burn yourself out.”

“No, I definitely don’t,” Draco admitted with a tight smile.

“If I didn’t have Astronomy tonight, I wouldn’t say no about heading up early.” Dagmar nuzzled him. “Something-something work hard, play hard.”

She finally managed to get a laugh out of Draco, his face splitting into a grin. It broke whatever daze working on the essay put him into enough for him to guide Dagmar into an obscured nook by the Entrance Hall stairs. The dull pound of heated blood was just starting to echo throughout Dagmar’s body when they had to let off. Discomfort followed Dagmar from it to the Slytherin table. While it would recede in the meantime, Dagmar looked all the more forward now to spending the night in the Room of Requirement.

Dinner was a little quiet without Blaise and Luca there. While Blaise tended more like Dagmar to enjoy listening, Theo needed someone to go back and forth with lest he start sounding obnoxious. Even he grew tired of his own voice, judging by how he eventually tapered off in favour of his dessert.

Dagmar and Draco headed back off once they were done eating. Since Dagmar had made some decent progress working on McGonagall’s essay while in study hall, she was looking forward to putting it behind her completely before heading to her last class for the day.

Concentrating didn’t come easy at the library. Dagmar had barely added a sentence to her essay when she ripped a slip off another piece of parchment. She wrote a short note to Draco: _Spend tomorrow night together too?_

Draco’s expression softened before he dashed down a reply: _Like I’ll ever say no._

 _I’m looking forward to tonight,_ Dagmar sent back. She drove the point home by rubbing his calf with her foot where it already rested against him.

_You’re making it hard to focus._

Draco’s smirk drew a cheeky grin out of Dagmar. While she was having fun, she had to tone it down when a casual wave in Blaise’s direction ended up drawing him over. That he looked like something was on his mind gave Dagmar extra pause.

“Hey,” she greeted him.

Blaise nodded and glanced down at Draco, who had his own gaze stuck to his essay. He looked back to Dagmar. “A word?”

“Er. . .sure.” Dagmar certainly couldn’t say she was too busy at the moment, nor had she yet slipped into a new flow with her work. “Draco, will you watch my stuff?”

“Yep.”

Dagmar followed Blaise out of the library. He hesitated, then turned deeper into the castle. The further they went, the more any voices behind them receded. The portraits tapered off as well. Regardless, Blaise still tried a couple locked doors before he finally found a classroom they could slip into. Dagmar was growing exceedingly curious at the lengths Blaise was going to for privacy.

“What’s going on?” she asked. The room’s torchlight was uncertain, as if they hadn’t been lit in a while. Dagmar thought maybe a trick of the light was the reason Blaise looked beyond nervous.

“There’s something I need to tell you,” he stiffly replied. Despite his efforts, there was still a slight tremble to his voice. “I’ve been meaning to—should’ve quite a while ago. I don’t know why I didn’t sooner. I guess I thought I’d have time.”

Dagmar furrowed her brow as she tried to puzzle out his cryptic words. “What is it?”

“I’m gay.”

Dagmar blinked, parsing it out as she gazed at Blaise. If he didn’t look about ready to choose between sprinting off and tossing his guts, she might think he was telling her this as some kind of joke. How could he be? Then again. . .

“Huh,” Dagmar replied. She took a seat at one of the desks. “I always felt like there was some kind of wall between us.”

“I’m sorry.” Blaise’s voice turned raspy. “I’m really, really sorry. I hope you don’t think I was trying to trap you by agreeing to go on with our arrangement before it ended. I honestly thought you might be too.”

“Gay? Er—nei.” Dagmar shook her head. “After being with Draco long enough, I think it’s safe for me to say I’m definitely attracted to men. I mean, I maybe had one of those weird little-kid crushes on a girl way older than me once, but I was like seven. Did I really give off those vibes?”

“It was more a matter of elimination.” Maybe since Dagmar wasn’t meeting Blaise at his heightened emotional state, he began to calm down. He was at least able to take a seat ahead of where Dagmar sat. He rested his elbow on the desk separating them. “We’ve both admitted there were never feelings like that between us, which should’ve probably been the easiest ones to come about. You never seemed too let down about having to turn down other blokes, like Macmillan or Longbottom. I half-suspected there might be something between you and Granger—”

Dagmar burst into laughter, quickly stopping herself. “Sorry, go on. I don’t mean to make light of it.”

“Honestly, that you can laugh makes me feel better.” Blaise sighed. “I never felt like I’d be trapping you because we didn’t really lack for anything. We were happy as we were. If that ever changed, I promise I would’ve told you. If you wanted something from me I couldn’t give, or maybe you wanted someone else, I would’ve made it work. I wanted you to be happy, even if we weren’t by any stretch a conventional couple.”

“I didn’t feel trapped,” Dagmar said. “I’ve always liked our relationship, before and after the arrangement ended. I never felt like that for you either, nei, but if you told me you were gay, I can’t see myself as having a problem with you having a boyfriend so long as I could have one too.”

Blaise snorted, bringing a hand up to his face. “I mean, we’d already decided against kids, so it wouldn’t have been like we had anyone to hurt that might not understand.”

“So tell me more, then, because I’m curious.” Dagmar leaned forward on the desk that separated them. “Now I think about it, even though I didn’t really have crushes or anything before this summer, I didn’t have a defining moment where I just _knew_ that I was one way or the other. It’s more common to be straight, so I didn’t question anything at all when those feelings for Draco started hitting me. Is there a moment where you realize? Or is it something you just always know?”

“Mm. . .” Blaise pressed his lips together, gaze wandering the room as he thought. “A little of both, perhaps. It’s normal to you. I never felt like I was really different until my mates started all clearly preferring girls. Then there was the arrangement. I talked to my parents about it—never explicitly told her or anything, but of course when you’re twelve and being told who you’re going to marry, it’s a little overwhelming. But my parents gave me the talk about how all marriages are different and I’ll have time to decide what’s right for me. Takes the pressure off, you know?”

“Ja, I went through the same. Remember how awkward it was for the first while?”

Blaise chuckled. “Oh yeah. I remember.”

“I think that was everyone’s experience in the beginning,” Dagmar said. “Was there something in particular that made everything click into place?”

“Cedric Diggory.”

Dagmar giggled. “Honestly, he probably helped a lot of people figure out their sexuality—oh no, though, I remember how shaken you were when he died. . .”

“Yeah. . .” Blaise’s smile faded and Dagmar rested a hand on her chest. “Macmillan had asked you to go with him and I wasn’t jealous about it, so I thought okay, we’ll probably be able to date other people. I knew nothing would ever be possible with Cedric given he had a girlfriend, was in a different house, different year, all that, but the crush felt harmless. Then Cedric died, and that summer was just awful. I never felt like that before, even though I knew I had absolutely no right. Not like Chang did. God I felt bad for her when we came back in the fall.”

“Me too.” Dagmar’s stomach dropped in remembrance. “Aw, I wish you would’ve told me. Why didn’t you?”

“Just felt stupid about it.” Blaise shrugged. “Thought it was best I let it go with him.”

“I wish I’d realized, regardless. I would’ve liked to be there for you.”

“Well, and everyone’s emotions were riding high. You were upset too when we came back after summer. I didn’t think it was fair of me to put even more on you.”

“Right.” Dagmar pressed her lips together. “My parents had just. . .you know.”

They shared a significant glance.

“Yeah, that was a rough time,” Blaise said.

“What about now, then?”

Blaise looked up again. “What do you mean?”

“Why are you telling me this now?” Dagmar asked. “It doesn’t really affect me personally, since our arrangement is over. The only reason I could think is because there’s somebody else, and you wanted to do me the courtesy of a heads up.”

That Blaise hid his face again out of bashfulness brought a smile back to Dagmar.

“Sort of,” Blaise answered. “I don’t mean to get him in trouble or anything, but Draco is making me tell you. I wasn’t ready yet, but he found out about it earlier today and got pissed off that I might have been playing with you all the time we were betrothed. Not to mention, I _did_ throw up a fuss as things ended between us. He didn’t have the context, and I don’t blame him when he said he wouldn’t keep this to himself. Either I told you, or _he_ did.”

“I’m not upset, just to clarify,” Dagmar told him. “I’m sorry you got strong-armed into it. If it makes you feel any better, I definitely would’ve rather heard it from you than him. Is it kind of weird that we’re closer now when we’re apart than when we were together?”

Blaise laughed. “Less pressure, I guess. I don’t mind it at all. I’ve never been shy that I’m still fond of you.”

“Me neither, for you.” Dagmar leaned on the desk again, her fist under her chin. “Well? Who is it, then?”

“Luca.”

Dagmar’s smile broke into a grin. “And is something happening there, or. . .?”

“Starting.” Blaise turned bashful again. “Neither of us intended for it. I don’t know, I’ve thought he was fit since we met on the train. Everyone was on the piss after the Quidditch match, and I guess things got a little carried away when we tried to go to the Great Hall for something proper to eat. We ended up snogging, and I’m about ninety-five percent sure he started it. Neither of us really remember, but he said he’d wanted to for a while.”

“Aw, that’s kind of sweet, though. Is that why you two have been so weird all week?”

“Hard to tell who meant what when you were that drunk, you know? I never knew he was attracted to men before that. He said he could tell I was, although I’m still puzzling that one out.”

“He’s got a way better gaydar than me, in that case.” 

“But. . .” Blaise shrugged. “It was affecting our Quidditch performance, and Draco told us to sort ourselves out. I don’t really know yet what’s going to happen, but we did talk. There’s something there. I wouldn’t say we’re really going together or anything. Just feeling it out.”

“Draco and I did that for a while too.” Dagmar crossed her legs. “If there’s any advice I could give you, stay honest no matter how hard it might sometimes feel. Whether you wind up together later or not, you’ll thank yourself. I think most of the reason Draco and I are as close as we are today is because that’s how we built the foundation of our relationship. I’m not afraid to talk to him if I’m upset or concerned about something between us. I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”

“It _is_ hard.” Blaise ran his hand down his face. “That’s what I’m trying, though. Ignoring it wasn’t making things any better.”

“It never does.”

“My biggest concern about the whole thing is his age,” Blaise said. “Not that he’s _much_ younger than us, it feels weird being of-age and he’s not even sixteen until next month.”

“He’s mature.” Dagmar shrugged. “Plus, he’s so tall. Tall and handsome. . .”

Blaise snorted as Dagmar reached across the desk to nudge him.

“I understand the hesitation over it, though,” Dagmar said. “Draco and I are lucky we’re only a couple months apart.”

“I want to take things slow. It’s all new to both of us. Thinking ahead too, I won’t be at Hogwarts next year. Who even knows if he’ll be in Britain if his mum doesn’t stay on? Can’t really say I’m too optimistic she will, given our history of Defence professors.”

“Nei,” Dagmar agreed. “That does suck. I take for granted that Draco and I will be doing whatever we do next together.”

Blaise smiled tightly. “I took it for granted too, when it was us.”

“Well, if you ever need an ear or anything, don’t be shy,” Dagmar told him. “When Draco and I were keeping things quiet, I found out how alone you can feel when you have no one else to talk to about it. I don’t have any bad or weird feelings about the whole thing. Like I’ve said, I want both of us to be happy. If I can do anything to help you achieve that, I want to.”

“Thanks. I appreciate that.”

Dagmar couldn’t think of anything else to say about the matter. Blaise seemed of similar mind in how he tapped the desk and gazed at the floor. He looked up again when Dagmar stood, following suit.

“Hopefully this isn’t weird, given we never really were affectionate before,” Dagmar clasped her hands behind her back, “but could I give you a hug? You look kind of like you could use one.”

Blaise laughed. “Sure.”

Dagmar squeezed him tightly, snorting before they let each other go. “You know what you have to do, now.”

“What?”

“Go to him.”

The two of them laughed again, Blaise darkening yet again in the cheeks. “Yeah, all right.”

He went the opposite direction as Dagmar when they left the classroom. She herself was in a fabulous mood when she made it back to the library, and could almost laugh at how grumpy Draco looked. It at least faded away after he took in her demeanour.

Dagmar dashed him a note: _He told me you know, so I guess if you want to talk about it we can later._

_Did he happen to inform you of the_ _eyeful_ _I got?_

Dagmar’s head snapped up from the note, quickly putting two and two together. That Draco was so clearly unimpressed made her stifle laughter into her clenched hand.

“How bad?” she whispered.

“No body parts, so there’s that,” Draco drawled with a roll of his eyes. “They were up in the dorm. I’ll be telling Blaise that stops now. I don’t need to worry about walking in on something, and honestly, it’s only fair. Even Theo had the sense to ask us all before him and Daphne shagged in there.”

“Knowing Blaise and hearing what he had to say, it probably wasn’t intentional.”

“Regardless, I’m telling him.” Draco dipped his quill to return to his essay. “That was beyond improper.”


	19. Into the Pensieve

“It’s been so nice lately,” Daphne was saying. She sat up in her bed with her blanket wrapped around her. “I don’t know if something just clicked with Theo or what, but even the difference between this time we got his dorm to ourselves and the last time is huge. I already want him again.”

“I get that completely.” Dagmar laid down in her bed, but she’d moved her pillow to the foot so that she could better chat with Daphne and Milly. “When it’s good, it’s like an addiction. You crave it.”

Milly snorted. “An a-dick-tion?”

The three of them dissolved into the type of giggles only achievable when moving beyond exhaustion into complete silliness. Winter had hit the castle hard in the last week, and while the dungeons were the warmest part of the castle, Dagmar had returned to them cold from her and Draco’s day in Hogsmeade. Had they not spent so many nights in the Room of Requirement lately that their dorm-mates started to notice their absence, it’s where Dagmar would’ve preferred to be again at the moment. She wasn’t doing a very good job of warming her own bed, even after a long, hot shower.

Daphne sighed after they’d all calmed down again. “I do love that man. I’ve been daydreaming a lot about the wedding lately.”

“Ja?” Dagmar smiled. “Big, small. . .?”

“Maybe on the smaller side. Neither of us have huge families, although there isn’t a lot of intersection—”

“Lucky, for a couple British purebloods,” Milly commented.

Daphne lapsed into giggles again, along with Dagmar. “Shut up, Milly. Even if you’re right. Anyway, we’re thinking just family and close friends. I guess it would depend on that for how many people Theo and I have in our wedding party. At the smallest three each, but we have more male friends than female friends. It gets a little tricky to keep the bridesmaids and groomsmen even. I for sure want you two and Astoria.”

Dagmar placed a hand to her chest inside her blanket cocoon, touched. “Really?”

“Mhm.” Daphne nodded. “Honestly feel like I hit my stride with having friends, this year. Not to knock Pansy too hard or anything, but she wasn’t exactly someone that ever inspired a sense of. . .”

“Security?” Milly offered. “I never felt like I could tell her anything without risking the entire school finding out. She was so judgemental, too. I doubt she was harder on anyone than herself, but still. It was bringing me down. It had for years, really.”

“She seems to have made herself a place with Parvati and Lavender,” Daphne said.

“The Gryffindors in general.” Milly hesitated. “Did you guys hear the rumour about her having a threesome with their Beaters after our game against them?”

“What?” Daphne’s eyes widened. “No.”

“It’s not true,” Dagmar quickly told them. “I asked Ginny, since she’s seeing the one. She figures Parvati and Lavender started it.”

“That’s kind of sad,” Daphne replied. “Some friends _they_ turned out to be.”

“Are they any worse than her, though?” Milly asked.

Dagmar still felt bad about it. Pansy wouldn’t have relegated to Parvati and Lavender as her friends if Dagmar hadn’t pushed her out of her own group here.

“Has Pansy said anything to you since you and Draco started going together?” Daphne asked Dagmar.

“Nei.” Dagmar resituated her blanket around her chin. “She pretty much just pretends I don’t exist.”

“Probably the best case scenario,” Milly said. “It’s been like five months since she and Draco broke up, and she still doesn’t seem over it.”

“They kind of fed off each other back when they were together,” Daphne said. “I’m glad one of them could snap out of it. I actually really like Draco this year. He came up nicely.”

“He did,” Dagmar agreed.

Daphne studied her in the minimal light. “I hope you don’t feel like it was your fault Pansy is like this. It was Draco’s choice. Looking at the two of them now, it’s hard to believe they were _ever_ compatible.”

“Ja. . .I don’t know.” While it _had_ ultimately been Draco’s choice to move forward with her on their own arrangement, Dagmar was closer than she was comfortable with to his breakup with Pansy. He would’ve done it regardless, but Dagmar clearly recalled snogging Draco in his bedroom and telling him he needed to break up with his current girlfriend before she would agree to be his. Then, she forewent that anyway on the premise Draco would be done with Pansy in short order to follow. “I guess I know what she’s missing. I don’t know if I’d be acting any better if Draco and I were to break up.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that.” Daphne wiggled an arm out of her blanket so that she could wave the idea off. “He adores you.”

“I know.”

“I can see you two getting married.” A smile returned to Daphne. “You?”

Dagmar snorted. “It’s only been a couple months. Marriage is a _long_ ways down the road.”

“Theo and I have been betrothed since we were twelve, so, believe me, I know long roads.” Daphne chuckled. “In ways, the wait is nice because there’s so much anticipation, but now that we’re both of-age and engaged, I’m ready just to tie the knot and have it be done with. I can’t wait to live with him. I can’t wait to be his wife. I can’t wait to have his children.”

Dagmar’s stomach dropped with an ache at the last sentiment. She recovered for the sake of the conversation, but it tapered off anyway as fatigue took over all three of them. Dagmar bid Daphne and Milly good night before turning herself right in her bed and shutting her curtains.

Whenever Dagmar was away at school and the twingy darkness inside her receded, the idle wish of someday having kids rose up to the surface. It was particularly bad when she was ovulating, which Dagmar currently was. Knowing that didn’t help ease off the yearning. It was harder to ignore now that she had a boyfriend she deeply loved.

The feeling lingered like a mild hangover in the morning. The urge to cuddle anything the size and weight of a small child had Dagmar looking for Heimdall. He didn’t come when she whistled at the edge of the forest, though.

Dagmar stayed out longer than she should have calling for him, Heimdall’s name lost to the wind and Dagmar’s feet and face frozen from the snow that fell. Draco ran a bath for her later in the Room of Requirement. He opted to lean over the edge rather than come in. Dagmar looked at him when he touched her knee.

“I’m sure he’s fine,” Draco reassured her.

“He always comes when I call.”

“There’s no way he could freeze with how much fur he has,” Draco told her. “I’ve seen him fight, too. He can defend himself.”

“Against other cats.” Dagmar sniffled. “There are bigger things in the forest he wouldn’t have a chance against.”

“Aw, don’t think like that.” Draco leaned over to kiss the side of her head. “The students’ animals know how to avoid those things. I’ve never heard of someone’s cat getting picked off.”

“Heimr’s just a baby still. Maybe he doesn’t know better.”

“I think he knows better than you realize.”

Dagmar would feel better once she saw him again. Draco came with her out on the grounds after dinner Monday and Tuesday to search for him. Dagmar went on her own Wednesday after study hall ended, since Draco had Quidditch practice. She could occasionally hear his whistle from the pitch and shouted instructions.

With her wand tip lit, Dagmar peered into the forest from the edge. Her voice had already grown hoarse from calling, and it didn’t seem like it was working anyway. She wrapped her scarf tighter around her face and glanced back at the castle before passing by the first few trees. Darkness quickly enclosed her as the tree canopy blocked out what little light still remained. The sounds of the Quidditch pitch fell mute too.

“Heimr!” Dagmar called. “Come on, little boy!”

Her voice hit the surrounding foliage equally as densely. Dagmar sighed and moved in deeper, keeping her eyes peeled and ears sharp for anything that moved. Maybe since Dagmar’s voice could barely breach her immediate area, Heimdall just hadn’t heard her.

Dagmar’s wand light washed over the tree trunks as she passed them by. A lurch of her stomach stopped her when she noticed some familiar etchings on one: _‘Grim’_ in Norse runes.

It wasn’t what Dagmar needed to see when she searched for her other cat. Dagmar had fended off crying all week, but that did it. She stood in front of where she’d buried Grim last March, and muffled herself in her scarf. She wasn’t ready to say goodbye to another animal, especially one so young. It had at least been Grim’s time to go.

Something crunched behind Dagmar. She spun around on pure instinct. The Stunning Spell she sent was redirected toward the sky. It vanished amongst the canopy.

“Hermione,” Dagmar breathed. “Nice reflexes.”

Eyes wide, Hermione looked just as surprised at herself for summoning a Shield Charm so quickly on the draw. She kept her wand aloft, matching Dagmar’s Wand-Lighting Charm.

“Oh, it’s just you,” Hermione said. “I saw someone heading in here from the castle. Thought it might be some younger students. What’re you doing?”

Dagmar put herself between Hermione and Grim’s tree as she moved closer. “Looking for Heimr.”

“He’s missing?” Hermione’s brow furrowed.

Dagmar nodded while wiping her eyes on her scarf.

“As much as I understand. . .” Hermione sighed. “You shouldn’t be in here. Especially not alone, or when it’s so dark out.”

“I don’t have time during the day. If Heimr is hurt, I might not have until the weekend to find him.”

Hermione pressed her lips together. “Come on. We’ll follow our trail back.”

They started on their way. Dagmar immediately noticed larger footprints belonging to something else running perpendicular to hers and Hermione’s, just beyond the clearing. They hadn’t been there when Dagmar first arrived.

“So, erm.” Hermione swept the area to her side with her wand to better see. “How’ve you been?”

“Better,” Dagmar said, although she knew what Hermione meant. They hadn’t spent any time together since the Slytherin-Gryffindor match. Dagmar had stuck close to her own house as resentment reestablished itself between Slytherin and the rest of the school. It had gotten slightly better since Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw played, but Dagmar’s relationship with Draco ended up a factor as well. Potter and Weasley were certainly sour about their humiliating defeat by Draco’s hands, and Hermione cared enough about their feelings to let her friendship with Dagmar cool for a while.

“How long has Heimdall been missing?” Hermione asked.

“I haven’t seen him in close to a week now, but I only noticed Sunday.”

“Oh.”

Dagmar couldn’t help but feel annoyed. Although she didn’t doubt Hermione cared about Heimdall going missing, it felt like Hermione merely used him as means to break the awkward silence between them.

“So Potter and Weasley are over it enough we can talk again, then?” Dagmar asked.

“I honestly don’t think they’ll ever be over it.” Hermione shrugged. “You know it’s true what Harry said to Malfoy, right? He didn’t complain to Madam Hooch that they might have cheated.”

“I’m sure it crossed his mind anyway.”

“I thought you didn’t care about sports.”

“It’s a little different when it’s my boyfriend being accused when he worked so hard for that win,” Dagmar snipped. “God forbid _Slytherin_ get any glory.”

“That’s really what you think?” Hermione asked.

“Hard to feel any different, right now,” Dagmar said. “The one good thing about everyone saying our Quidditch team took some Felix Felicis is that it got proven wrong. Aside from that, Draco can’t even mind his own business at this school without being interrogated as a suspected Death Eater. Then throw _me_ in for good measure when you _know_ I’d never have anything to do with that.”

Hermione went quiet again. “Harry only suspected that because there are rumours about your parents.”

“What would it even matter if they were true, when it comes to me?” Dagmar’s chest burned with defensiveness. “You know me, Hermione. You _know_ me. Six years we’ve been friends, and you could think that of me?”

“I didn’t,” Hermione said as they came to a stop with the edge of the forest in view. “I don’t.”

“But you have to make sure, right?” Dagmar’s breath burned as it passed through her lungs. “Pureblood and a Slytherin, I check off all the boxes to be a Death Eater.”

“You’re also friends with children of known ones,” Hermione coolly replied, her eyes narrowing in the pooled light between them. “Don’t act so self-righteous when there _are_ legitimate reasons to make anyone other than me wonder. You spent half of July at the home of known Death Eaters. All considering, you’re quite lucky that all Harry spared Malfoy was one throwaway question—that he believed the response to, I might add.”

Dagmar straightened her face out. She figured it was probably too late for Hermione to have not seen her reaction about Malfoy Manor.

“You’re right,” Hermione said. “You’re not your mum. You’re not your dad. But you’re still flirting with it.”

“Fuck you.”

Hermione’s eyes widened before she blinked, her eyebrows high. Dagmar was just as shocked it came out of her own mouth, but she wouldn’t take it back. Hermione had absolutely no idea what Dagmar had been through because of her parents’ associations. Yet she thought herself worthy to stand there and judge?

“I’m no Death Eater.” Dagmar’s voice quivered from the effort of keeping it at an acceptable volume. “If you truly believe that, don’t ever bother me with this tired tripe again.”

Dagmar carried on alone. She couldn’t tell if she’d pissed Hermione off or upset her, nor could she even tell where she herself fell between those two options. It made Dagmar incredibly nervous about what else Hermione might possibly know. Was she already aware of her parents’ allegiance to Voldemort? Did Potter ask Draco his questions all those weeks ago with that in mind, to see what else might possibly slip—to see what they might possibly admit?

At least since Dagmar had already been upset all week with Heimdall missing, none of Draco’s teammates spared a second thought when they saw her in the Quidditch pitch. Dagmar wasn’t sure if she trembled because she was cold, or if her nerves were shot for a whole new reason.

Draco’s face fell when he studied her. “Still no luck?”

Dagmar shook her head. While she returned Draco’s hug, she tried to organize her thoughts. In the wake of finding Grim’s grave, Dagmar was especially scared about what Hermione could ever potentially find out about her.

“You’re freezing cold.” Draco tried to rub some heat in through her back. “Let’s get a hot meal in you, and I’ll run you another bath upstairs before we get to our homework.”

Dagmar’s grip tightened and her vision blurred again against his shoulder. “Okay.”

* * *

December had started at a gallop for Harry, since he’d rushed the last week of November getting his Auror application ready. The professors began handing out even more homework than they already were, and it was almost with relief that the last planned Order meeting before Christmas holidays ended up cancelled. Kingsley was also busy. He piqued Harry’s anticipation by strongly recommending through Dumbledore that Harry, Ron, and Hermione come back to London over the break. Harry had already planned to because Mrs. Weasley had written to ask him about it, but the prospect of Order business perhaps too big to bring to Hogwarts was a welcome thing to look forward to.

On December twentieth, while the majority of students headed down to Hogsmeade station to catch the train, Harry had more time to pack since he didn’t plan on leaving until later. He arranged to meet Dumbledore up at his office after dinner. Dinner itself was a small affair in the Great Hall, with less than twenty students, none of which Harry had so much as said hi to before other than Malfoy and Ramstad. Neither of them acknowledged his existence through the meal. If conversation elsewhere got quiet enough, Harry could hear what they were saying. He couldn’t understand it, though. While Malfoy’s Norwegian was still incredibly shaky compared to the nice-sounding flow of Ramstad’s, he could hold something resembling a conversation in it now.

Harry headed up to the dorm right after eating so that he could double-check he had everything he needed. The only class that didn’t contribute to a combined fourteen feet worth of essays was Defence, but Harry dreaded his homework for that almost more than the rest of it combined. Their class was due to start Occlumency after the holidays. Parasca had asked them to do the same prep as Snape had told Harry, back in fifth year. Harry didn’t feel anymore confident now about closing his mind down before sleep as he did then.

Dumbledore was just slipping something into his pocket when he invited Harry into his office. He folded his hands together in front of him. “Have everything you need?”

“Hope so.”

With a chuckle and sparkle in his eye, Dumbledore gestured Harry toward the fireplace. Harry went first, and stepped out when Grimmauld Place finally appeared. Mrs. Weasley stood up from where she sat.

“Good to see you.” Mrs. Weasley brought Harry into a tight hug. She only relented when, with another flash of the fireplace, Dumbledore appeared beside them. “Cup of tea, Dumbledore?”

“I would love one.”

They headed toward the kitchen. Mrs. Weasley glanced back over her shoulder on the stairs. “Ron and Hermione should be here shortly. Arthur and Tonks went to get them. Kingsley’s already here.”

Kingsley raised a hand when they came in. “Harry. Dumbledore. Did you bring it?”

“Er. . .” Harry trailed off, but grew relieved that Kingsley directed his question at Dumbledore.

“Fits quite nicely in your pocket, if you need it to.” Dumbledore brought out a miniature version of his pensieve and set it on the kitchen table. With a wave of his wand, it returned to its normal size.

“What do you need that for?” Harry asked.

“We’ll see.” Dumbledore winked at him. “Where are they, Kingsley?”

“I had them moved elsewhere, since Harry will be back for the holidays.” Kingsley nodded at him. “I managed to track down Hugo Crabbe and Everett Goyle.”

“You did?” Harry’s stomach flopped. “Where?”

“Up by Manchester.” Kingsley jerked his thumb in a generally northern direction. “They haven’t said as much explicitly, but I think they were ready to be found. Better us than Voldemort, who they seem equally under the impression would make them permanently disappear.”

“And they’ve been staying here?” Harry took a seat at the table while Mrs. Weasley bustled around getting the kettle ready.

“Under surveillance,” Kingsley said. “We didn’t think it was wise they be here when you are, though. Just in case.”

Harry could appreciate that. He tried to imagine doing Parasca’s assignment before going to sleep while under the same roof as a couple defected Death Eaters.

While Harry also appreciated the tea Mrs. Weasley set in front of him, he was eager to hear what Crabbe and Goyle might have to say. He was also quite nervous to come face to face with Voldemort’s followers again.

Harry headed upstairs when the front door opened. Ron and Hermione greeted him with hellos, while Mr. Weasley clapped him on the back. Tonks offered a grin. “Wotcher, Harry.”

“Good to see you,” he replied. Tonks had been around when Harry, Ron, and Hermione were first inducted into the Order, but there hadn’t been much personal to her visits. Harry doubted it would change now with the latest development, although maybe Tonks would make some kind of concession on Christmas to spend some time here with Harry and the Weasleys.

Kingsley came up the stairs behind Harry. “Ron, Hermione, good to see you. Did Arthur catch you up to speed on your way over?”

“I didn’t want to discuss anything outside of here,” Mr. Weasley said.

Ron furrowed his brow. “We’re doing business tonight? Like what?”

“Harry could fill you in, if he’d rather.” Kingsley glanced at his watch. “Tonks, mind giving me a hand bringing them over?”

“Not at all.”

Tonks held Kingsley’s offered wrist, and the two of them disappeared with a faint pop. Ron turned to Harry instead, and glanced at his dad. “Bringing _what_ over?”

“Who,” Harry corrected him. “Kingsley found Crabbe and Goyles’ dads.”

“Really?” Ron stood straighter. “They’ve got info then, or what?”

“Dunno. You’re all caught up, s’far as I know.”

With a chuckle, Mr. Weasley put an arm around each of them. “Did you eat before you came, Harry?”

“Yeah, I did.” Still, what Mrs. Weasley had started making downstairs for the rest of them smelled good. Harry had a feeling that what little space he’d made since dinner would be filled back in. Sure enough, while everyone else tucked in, Mrs. Weasley insisted on Harry taking at least some of the potatoes and roast. He managed to fit some cake, too.

“Since we’re still watching that handful of Slytherins,” Harry said after Kingsley and Tonks returned downstairs to join them, “might be worth mentioning that Malfoy and Ramstad stayed at Hogwarts over the holidays.”

“Not like they really have any family to go home to right now, do they?” Ron asked. “Not if it’s true they’re trying to stay away from all that mess.”

“Yeah,” Hermione sighed. “I think I flew too close to the sun telling Dagmar I knew she’d been at Malfoy Manor over summer. I doubt I’ll ever get anything else out of her. I don’t think she’d admit anything anyway, unless confronted with undeniable evidence.”

“Might not matter.” Ron shrugged. “We can hear it right from the source.”

There was no dawdling on clearing the table, once everyone was done. Dumbledore’s pensieve had remained at the middle of it as constant reminder of what their evening held in store. Once all the dishes were clean and the food was put away, Kingsley and Tonks headed upstairs. When they returned, a pair of heavy feet accompanied them. Tonks looked like a small child coming up behind Crabbe. Both had the appearance about them as if they’d just come back to civilization after living out in the woods. Harry wondered if maybe that’s where they’d been, and it was the cold weather that finally drove them out.

Crabbe and Goyle took seats on the empty side of the table. Goyle lifted his chin at Dumbledore’s pensieve. “What’s that?”

Dumbledore sat at the centre opposite them, his hands folded loosely on the tabletop. “It stores memories so that they may be later viewed.”

Crabbe grunted. Neither of them looked comfortable about it. Harry held Goyle’s gaze when it landed on him, however much he would’ve liked to look away.

“Kingsley informed me you’ve enjoyed our hospitality,” Dumbledore continued. “He said you understand that it comes at a price. Surely that price can’t seem too steep now, as your old master continues to hunt you.”

Crabbe looked down at the table. Goyle scratched his cheek, the stubble there sounding like static.

“What do you want to know?” he asked.

“What job were you doing for Voldemort before you were forced to leave?”

Both of them recoiled at the name. Goyle recovered first. “We were looking for someone.”

“Who?”

“Name was Magnus Norheim.”

Harry glanced down the length of his side of the table. Nobody else looked familiar with the name either. Dumbledore didn’t react either way. “What was Voldemort’s interest in him?”

“Dunno.” Crabbe shrugged. “We were just told to look for him. The instructions were simple: bring Norheim to the Dark Lord, along with any travel companions.”

“Who else was involved in this job amongst the Death Eaters?”

“Lucius,” Crabbe said. “Hildegard and Erik Ramstad. That loony Bellatrix and her husband joined once they were out of Azkaban.”

As casually as he could, Harry brought a hand up to cover his mouth. To finally have it confirmed by Death Eaters themselves that Ramstad’s parents were in the organization came with enough of a thrill he could smile, even if it didn’t make him particularly happy.

“What was the meeting about that you attended, before Ramstad Manor came under Ministry scrutiny?”

“Touching base,” Goyle answered. “We’d just returned from Zurich. Saw no signs of Norheim, but we could at least narrow the search field. Last we’d all spoken, Norheim was suspected to be somewhere between Zurich and Barcelona.”

“And Voldemort never mentioned who Norheim might be, or what he might be carrying?”

Goyle flinched again. “No, like we said. It was his business. We were only doing the legwork.”

Dumbledore hummed. “How long have the Ramstads been Death Eaters?”

“Since he came back.” Crabbe paused. “Only Erik has the Dark Mark.”

“You didn’t know either of them prior to when they moved to Britain in 1990?”

“No.” Goyle furrowed his brow. “I got the sense, though, that maybe there was history. For how involved Hildegard was, you’d think she had the mark too.”

“I’m sure we’ll all be coming back to this table as questions occur to us and your memory is jogged,” Dumbledore said. “For now, I would like to ask from both of you a memory. Perhaps a good starting point would be the first time you ever met for this particular job.”

“Er. . .how do we do that?”

Neither of them looked comfortable as Dumbledore stood and extracted his wand on his way around to their side of the table. Crabbe leaned closer to Goyle when Dumbledore attempted to place the wand to his temple, but eventually relaxed into it.

“Consider that memory, now,” Dumbledore instructed him.

A silver thread came away with the wand tip. Dumbledore placed it into the pensieve before repeating the process with Goyle.

“Thank you,” Dumbledore said. “I’m sure we’ll be in touch.”

Goyle frowned. “That’s it?”

“For tonight.” Dumbledore bowed his head. “You’ve given us sufficient information for now.”

Kingsley and Tonks stood, in order to escort them back to wherever they were staying. Harry let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding once their footsteps receded up the kitchen stairs.

“Well, Magnus Norheim definitely sounds like a Scandinavian name,” Ron broke the pensive silence. “Relative of the Ramstads, maybe?”

“What kind of dealings did Voldemort have up there?” Hermione asked.

“I wouldn’t doubt he had some.” Dumbledore took the chair that Goyle had been sitting in. “Voldemort had dealings all over Europe as he tried to expand his influence back in the seventies. As far as I’ve been able to tell, he never made much headway into Norway. The Scandinavian magical communities are quite reclusive when it comes to outsiders.”

“Malfoy told me something about that,” Harry said. “He said the purebloods there don’t take kindly to someone like Voldemort that thinks they have something to prove.”

“Precisely.” Dumbledore’s eyes glinted briefly as he smiled. “It’s more than likely Voldemort went there anyway. If he did, it sounds like someone may have crossed him badly enough for the grudge to hold. If Goyle’s observation about Hildegard Ramstad is correct, they may have been acquainted.”

Harry bowed his head in thought. “So she might have been somehow involved, even if she didn’t take the mark. What else did Voldemort care about in Norway, if not followers?”

“Maybe _that’ll_ say.” Ron pointed at the pensieve. “Maybe Hildegard mentioned it when she met Crabbe and Goyle for the first time.”

“Would you care to look?” Dumbledore asked.

Harry was just as eager, as was Hermione. Dumbledore was smiling again when they looked back at him. “You three can go ahead. It’s perhaps best we split everyone’s time in the pensieve, to avoid overcrowding.”

Mrs. Weasley looked like she had something to say about it, but she held her tongue as Harry, Ron, and Hermione stood around the pensieve. The familiar hooking sensation near Harry’s navel tipped him upside down, and soon he was falling. Just when he felt like he would hit the ground face-first, Harry straightened out with his feet beneath him. He was standing in a very nice and large great room. It was as tall as both storeys of the house, with a rail overlooking from the second floor. Crabbe was beside them, having just stepped out of the fireplace. He looked around the room like Harry did, as if he too had never been here before. Goyle came in behind Crabbe by floo.

Harry’s stomach dropped involuntarily, for he thought Ramstad had joined them in the room from the hallway beyond the fireplace. After a good stare, though, this had to be her mum. They looked nearly identical aside from what differences age would make.

“Oh good, you’re here.” Hildegard’s accent was stronger too. “Come this way. And please be quiet, my daughter is upstairs—ah. . .”

Along with Hildegard, Crabbe, and Goyle, Harry directed his gaze up to the second floor railing. Sure enough, at the far corner, a younger Ramstad stood there. She rested her temple against the wall, her face long and expression completely devoid of happiness. Hildegard said something garbled to her in a forced-casual tone—Norwegian, maybe. Ramstad stared at her before eventually pushing off the wall and disappearing. A door closed shortly after.

Hildegard drew in a long, slow breath before quickly exhaling. “Right. Come.”

She led Crabbe and Goyle around the corner she’d appeared from. There was a set of double doors. The room was dark. Harry hardly had a chance to look around before Hermione clasped his forearm. Sure enough, Voldemort’s white face hung like a cursed mask in the shadows. Lucius Malfoy was there, along with another blond, bearded man Harry assumed was Erik Ramstad.

Hildegard joined Erik’s side while Crabbe and Goyle bowed before Voldemort with twin greetings of, “My Lord.”

“Hush,” Voldemort coldly told them when they went on longer than his ego cared to indulge. “I have a task for you. You said you wished to prove your loyalty again after not bothering to search for me, and this. . .this would do well.”

“What is it, my Lord?” Crabbe asked. “We’ll do whatever you ask of us.”

What Voldemort had to say wasn’t much more than what Crabbe and Goyle had already told them earlier. Harry’s attention drifted off along with him as he walked past Lucius Malfoy to get a closer look at the Ramstads. From where he, Ron, and Hermione stood, Harry could already see that neither of them looked happy. Hildegard had a length to her expression similar to Ramstad’s, looking down on Death Eaters in her home.

Erik touched Hildegard’s hand. After sharing a glance, Hildegard straightened herself out. Her uncertainty and sadness vanished behind a mask, as did her husband’s.

“It is important he come to me _alive_ ,” Voldemort was saying. “He is of no use to me dead. Understood?”

“Of course, my Lord.” Both Crabbe and Goyle bowed again.

The memory started to dissolve. Harry thought there had to be more to it, but a few seconds later he was standing back in Grimmauld Place’s kitchen. Kingsley had returned, and had joined Mr. and Mrs. Weasley and Dumbledore at the table with more tea.

“Ah, that was quick.” Dumbledore smiled at them. “As curious as we all are, don’t say anything until we’ve all had a chance to see. Then we can compare objective notes afterward rather than go in looking for something in particular.”

“Right.” Harry took a seat beside him.

“Anyway, yeah, I think that’s a solid plan,” Kingsley said. “If Voldemort doesn’t currently have any interest in Hogwarts, then we need to find out where it _does_ lie. I’ll spend some time in Norway looking into the Ramstads’ background. Norheim might be a relative of Hildegard’s. My first assumption is that Norheim’s her maiden name.”

Dumbledore nodded. “While you’re doing that, I will write to Helga Westergaard. Alas, the Kapsferd Headmaster that would’ve been around while Hildegard, Erik, and this Magnus were students recently passed away, but Helga was the History of Magic professor before assuming the office. She may have known them more intimately, being their teacher.”

“There’s another school up there?” Harry asked.

“Yes,” Dumbledore answered. “It takes children from Norway, Sweden, and Denmark.”

Harry mechanically sipped the tea Mrs. Weasley set in front of him. “Wonder why Ramstad came to Hogwarts instead.”

“I spoke to Erik and Hildegard about it, back in 1990,” Dumbledore said. “The biggest factor for them wanting Dagmar to attend Hogwarts was distance. They live in west Berkshire. Hogwarts is already far enough away from southern Britain, but Kapsferd is over a thousand miles further north.”

Ron let out a low whistle. “What do you reckon, Mum? Would you send your kids that far?”

“Not if I didn’t have to.” Mrs. Weasley shook her head.

“Why did the Ramstads come to Britain, anyway?” Mr. Weasley asked. “If they’re indeed Death Eaters, 1990 is a highly suspicious year for them to have arrived, given You-Know-Who made his first reappearance in 1991.”

Hermione cleared her throat. “Dagmar told me that her grandfather used to own their manor. He died in 1990, and her father inherited it.”

“Her grandfather must have been a Ramstad too, then,” Ron said. “So who from their family came to Britain first? When? Why?”

“That, I’m not sure,” Hermione admitted with a shrug. “This was one throwaway conversation in our first year.”

Just like every time Harry attended one of these meetings, questions swirled around his mind. He had no idea how he was supposed to practice Occlumency while he tried to sort through the information dumped on them. Harry still gave it a shot while he tried to fall asleep, but snapped out of it when Ron made a shuddering noise of discomfort on the other side of the room.

“I just had a thought,” he said to Harry. “In that memory we saw, do you think Ramstad knew You-Know-Who was in her house?”

“Probably not.”

“I can’t wait to find out what Kingsley and Dumbledore learn.” Ron rustled on his bed as he rolled over to face Harry’s direction. “What do you reckon this Norheim had that You-Know-Who wanted? Another philosopher’s stone or something?”

“Dunno.”

Whenever Harry tried to close his mind, it only made space for the expression of pure disappointment on Ramstad’s face from Crabbe’s memory. From what Harry knew of Ramstad, thanks to her friendship with Hermione, Ramstad’s parents hadn’t raised her like Malfoy’s had him. So what would it feel like when they swore their allegiance to Voldemort?

Perhaps to describe the look on Ramstad’s face as disappointment was light. Harry doubted it would be extreme to say it may have broken her heart, which instilled in Harry a sense of dread about what tonight’s developments might mean for her. When it came to Voldemort’s followers, they didn’t tend to meet much variety of outcome. Surely, Ramstad knew that.


	20. Gryffindor Bravery

Had Snape not stayed at Hogwarts for the Christmas holidays, Dagmar and Draco would’ve had the entire dungeons to themselves. Dagmar couldn’t believe how empty the Slytherin common room both looked and felt when it was just them. Dagmar followed Draco up to his dorm after dinner on the first night the castle essentially emptied out.

“I wonder what happened to Heimr.” Dagmar swallowed with difficulty. “Do you think he went quick?”

Draco rubbed her back. “I don’t know that I’m ready to stop looking for him yet.”

“Me neither, but. . .it’s been a week.”

“A week is nothing for a cat,” Draco said. “Isn’t it? I mean, maybe he wandered deeper into the forest than he should have, but that doesn’t necessarily mean something bad happened to him. If he’s just lost, he knows how to fend for himself. He’ll make his way back eventually.”

“I’d be so happy if he did.” Dagmar sighed. “I’m also trying to manage my expectations, though. Grim. . .he never came back.”

There was a relief in knowing for sure that Grim was gone. Dagmar’s current uncertainty with Heimdall was comparable to the crushing guilt she experienced to spare Grim of his suffering. Heimdall could be hurt somewhere, slowly dying like Grim was, but out of reach from help.

“We’ll keep looking,” Draco told her. “I didn’t expect to get so attached to him. Never really was much of a cat person.”

“He’s a good boy.”

“Luca and I’s unofficial third in Care of Magical Creatures.” Draco’s chuckle didn’t sound as light as it usually would. “I won’t lie. . .I really missed him coming by class this week to say hello.”

“Ja.”

Because Heimdall was so young and only Dagmar’s second cat in her entire life, she wasn’t at all prepared to say goodbye so soon. She shouldn’t have had to worry about this until she was in her early thirties or so.

“I’m sorry I’ve been such a downer,” Dagmar told Draco. “These holidays were supposed to be something to look forward to when we were the only Slytherins staying.”

Draco pulled the blanket higher up over them to fully cover their shoulders. “They were already going to be rough. I’m starting to miss my mum, for sure.”

“Me too.” Dagmar slipped a hand up the back of Draco’s shirt so she could lightly scratch him. “Still, I’m glad I’m with you.”

“Same.” Draco nuzzled their noses together. “I couldn’t do it alone.”

Draco signed up to stay for his prefect duties as a cover story, and Dagmar just refused to spend the holidays away from him. Whether their parents had seen through it or not, they responded with the suggestion that maybe they’d all do something over the Easter holidays instead. Dagmar’s guilt to have disappointed them was only matched by Draco’s who, despite only his mum signing the return note, was still very anxious to please both his parents.

Dagmar ran her fingers over Draco’s arm, gravitating closer in the dorm’s chilly dimness. Her touch skimmed up Draco’s shoulders before Dagmar lightly scratched his scalp. His blinks slowed, his form slumping with a new relaxation. Draco’s lips were slow to react when Dagmar touched them with hers, but he quickly caught up.

Looking for Heimdall all week and otherwise feeling sad about his disappearance hadn’t left much room for intimacy. Draco’s body heat pooled along with Dagmar’s under his blanket, and the rest of the world beyond the closed curtain around the bed started to disappear into a fog.

Dagmar sat up so that she could pull her jumper off. Draco followed suit. He held her face as they kissed again, gravitating to Dagmar’s throat when her trembling fingers worked on the rest of his clothes. Dagmar’s mouth fell open to feel Draco’s tongue run over her jugular. No doubt he could feel it thump in time with her pounding heart.

She pressed Draco back down against the bed and straddled his hips. He’d been so good with her the last week while she struggled with Heimdall’s disappearance that Dagmar felt she was due to show her appreciation with more than just words. Draco needed a little tenderness too once in a while, and to be the one taken care of.

That mattered more to Dagmar than any actual physical pleasure she could derive from Draco. She just wanted to be close to him—connected—and he seemed of similar mind. Although they still moved together, the focus was more on how they touched each other, how softly they kissed, and how either a smile or grin couldn’t be suppressed whenever their gazes met.

“Hey,” Draco breathed. “Could we shift?”

Because he asked in Norwegian, Dagmar would’ve rewarded him with the affirmative even if she wasn’t already interested in the idea. “How do you want me?”

Dagmar straightened upright so that Draco could sit up with her. He wrapped his arms around her lower back as they kissed again.

“Put your legs around me,” he told her.

Attempt to do it without losing Draco ended up in them laughing as Dagmar had to balance herself against the bed. She poked her tongue out in concentration, which made Draco snort again. At least once they’d resituated against each other, the previous mood they’d established quickly returned. Dagmar loved how Draco helped ease their bodies back together by how he held her hips. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders to keep him close.

It felt good and Dagmar appreciated the intimacy of it, but it wasn’t a position they could hold for very long. Dagmar let Draco put her down onto her back since they were both starting to get tired from the extra athletics.

“I’m not going to last much longer,” Draco gave Dagmar the heads up.

“Okay.”

Dagmar wasn’t either, after reaching down. She was most likely in an emotional-enough place to cum just from what she and Draco were currently doing, and she honestly didn’t even care if she orgasmed or not since the experience itself had been nice enough. It was important to Draco, though, that they both finish if they could. As soon as Dagmar felt that hot swell begin, she wanted it more than anything. Her moan echoed through Draco against the shell of her ear. Dagmar nuzzled Draco’s neck when she came down from it. He’d gone soft inside her.

“Aw, I missed it,” she said. “I love feeling you cum.”

“I loved feeling _you_ a little too much.”

Dagmar chuckled. She settled beside Draco, snuggling up as he pulled the blanket back up over them. She shivered again, and she could feel gooseflesh similarly on Draco’s back.

“Thank you for being so patient with me this week,” she told him. “I’m glad I have someone to lean on when things are hard.”

“Same.”

With the holidays started, Dagmar was ready for that need to rise shortly in Draco. Monday morning, another sweets package arrived at breakfast from Narcissa. Dagmar was in the midst of reading the note that accompanied it when another owl landed in front of her. Her smile slid off as curiosity took over.

“Whose owl is that?” Draco asked through teeth glued together by toffee. “I’ve never seen one like it.”

“It’s a Ural owl,” Dagmar replied. She didn’t recognize the handwriting either, but considering that Ural owls were native to the northern parts of Norway, it didn’t surprise her to see the letter signed by Fru Dyrdahl:

_Dagmar,_

_It’s been a little while now since we last spoke, but I find myself occasionally thinking about you and Draco. How are you two doing? How has this winter been treating you? It’s been nice and mild up here so far._

_Ingrid came by the other day for a visit and mentioned that she saw your application for a Healing apprenticeship at Olaf Kyrre. Does that mean you’re planning on coming back to Bergen? If you are, Filip and I would be more than happy to help you two get settled. What kind of work is Draco looking to do?_

_I’m unsure when exactly Mímir will find you, but I’ll pass along holiday wishes anyway from everyone here. Happy Christmas!_

_Janne_

_Ps. Would you mind letting Mímir rest before sending him back home? Thanks in advance._

Dagmar took a big slice of ham off a nearby platter and offered it to Mímir. He took it with a grateful hoot, and nearly knocked Draco’s tea over with his impressive wingspan before taking off. His white and brown plumage was lost to view as he departed the Great Hall with the school owls.

Draco took the letter to read once Dagmar was done, his brow furrowed as he sounded out the Norwegian. Dagmar rubbed his back encouragingly with her head on his shoulder. He only needed a few words clarified before he could absorb its entire meaning.

“That’s kind of her to offer some guidance,” Draco said as he returned to his breakfast. “Culturally I feel that we’d be fine since you’ve lived there before, but it helps just to know somebody that currently does. Things might have changed.”

“I think the biggest change for _you_ is going to be maintaining your own household,” Dagmar replied after a sip of her coffee. “I was expected to know how to clean up after myself even after we inherited our house elves, so I can teach you some things. We might need help in the kitchen and garden.”

Draco wrinkled his nose. “That sounds like a lot of work.”

“Ja, well, I’m not taking care of the household all on my own.” Dagmar nudged him.

“I don’t expect you to. I’m just saying.”

“Now imagine how the Muggles feel, not having magic to make it easier,” Dagmar jested. “Who knows, you might even enjoy cooking and gardening. I only have fond memories of helping my parents with it. They never seemed like chores to me but more just part of our relationship, since it’s a way to take care of each other.”

“I’ll try to look at it that way, then.”

Dagmar lingered close to Draco, patiently waiting for him to look at her. She leaned in for a chaste kiss once he did.

“One thing about when I write my reply to Fru Dyrdahl,” Dagmar said as she read the letter over again. “I have no illusions whatsoever that because I know Ingrid at Olaf Kyrre, it might help my chances of being accepted. I’m about ninety-five percent sure Fru Dyrdahl would be acquainted with the warden at Jotunheimen. Are you comfortable knowing she might follow up with your application if she saw them at a social event or something?”

Draco chewed his toast while he thought. “It’s not like it could be avoided if she _did_ know them. I’d feel like a prat to ask her to do that, though.”

“Ja, that would be too much,” Dagmar agreed. “Honestly too, I don’t mind taking whatever advantage we can. I’m really invested in moving there. It’s not like you’re relying solely on any connections you might have to get on at Jotunheimen. You’d be an asset to the reserve, however you get picked.”

* * *

Draco woke up first on Christmas morning. There were gifts at the foot of his bed. He risked rousing Dagmar to check them out. She sighed and rolled over to face the other way.

Her gifts had come here as well. Draco sifted through the pile and opened his presents as quietly as he could. He was actually surprised that his father had signed the Christmas card attached to a brand new watch. His parents had discussed giving him that for his birthday, but Draco wanted his Firebolt first. Mr. and Mrs. Ramstad had sent him a bottle of scotch older than he was. Draco couldn’t resist pulling out the stopper to give it a sniff.

Dagmar shifted again beside him, her voice gravelly when she spoke. “Bit early for that, isn’t it?”

“On Christmas?” Draco decided to take a sip. “That’s nice. Want some?”

Dagmar chuckled and wrapped herself up tighter in the blanket. “I’ll wake up first.”

Draco finished opening the rest of his presents, and then came back up the bed. Dagmar studied him thoughtfully after he kissed her.

“That _is_ a nice scotch,” she said.

“Hold on before you have some,” Draco replied. “You might rather have some of what I got for you. Can’t guarantee the flavours would mix well.”

He rolled over and reached down under the bed. He’d hidden the box underneath, still in shock he managed to get it in via post without Dagmar’s notice. It was a bit heavy and certainly awkward to bring up onto the bed, since its weight shifted with movement.

“Don’t shake it,” he warned Dagmar.

Dagmar pulled the paper off to reveal the unmarked box. She peeked inside the top and then laughed. “Well, don’t _you_ know the way to a girl’s heart.”

Just as Draco expected she would, Dagmar pulled out one of the jars of pickled herring. It wasn’t something Hogwarts ever served, and Dagmar had complained a couple times since the start of term about cravings she couldn’t sate. She only ate a couple fillets, savouring each one before closing the jar.

“I should get yours,” she said. “I’ll be right back.”

She returned from her dorm with a wrapped box. Draco recognized it as soon as he pulled the paper off.

“I guess we were both thinking the same way,” Dagmar said with a fond smile as Draco cracked into the truffles she’d imported from the Muggle confectioner in Nice. “I tried to think what kind of a treat you’d like that we can’t get here.”

“It’ll do the trick,” Draco replied. “Thanks.”

He’d gone through half the box when a stomach ache settled in. Draco quietly debated his life while watching Dagmar open her other gifts. Her smile slid with a sigh as she held up a little baggie. “My parents included treats for Heimr.”

It dampened Draco’s spirits as well. It’d now been two weeks since the last time either of them had seen him. While they still searched, Draco was starting to believe the same as Dagmar, that something in the forest had gotten him. There was still a little glimmer of hope, but on Christmas especially, Draco wished they knew either way. Heimdall had been their shared Christmas present to each other. It would’ve been nice to spend today with him.

His absence was a little heavier on their minds as the day went on. It may have contributed to how much of the scotch and other alcoholic gifts they ended up drinking throughout. Draco felt a little paranoid about their state as he and Dagmar made it up to the Great Hall for dinner, but it became quickly clear they weren’t the only ones that had dipped in. Hagrid’s eyes were glassy, and his blank grin persistent. Draco heavily suspected that Dumbledore, McGonagall, Professor Sprout, and Professor Flitwick had had a private party in the afternoon. The only member of staff that looked completely sober was Snape. He also didn’t look impressed with his colleagues.

All considered, it wasn’t as bad a holiday as Draco had braced himself for. He was prepared to miss his mum throughout the day, and just accepted it when it came. Alcohol certainly helped, even if he regretted it the next morning. At least when Hagrid flagged him down in the Great Hall, Draco was far from the only one sick.

“Need yer help with somethin’ after breakfast.” Hagrid’s voice had a croak to it. “I noticed this mornin’ one o’ the firedrakes had a bit o’ scale rot. Kellah’s.”

“Dio?” Draco asked. “Er, yeah, sure. I didn’t have anything going on.”

It took long enough for Draco to gain Dio’s trust in the enclosure that Dagmar came by looking for him. She had to keep her distance lest Dio grow uncertain again, which meant she couldn’t do a whole lot to help as Hagrid went through the rest of them in search for potential spread of scale rot. Dagmar ended up bringing them down lunch and dinner from the Great Hall since Hagrid managed (with minimal scratching) to determine that the entire court of firedrakes had contracted the disease.

“Nothin’ to worry about,” Hagrid said as he and Draco mixed up a cauldron of treatment. It smelled as horrible as it looked. “We caught it early. Would be nice ter have more hands, but we’ll manage.”

Draco woke up early the next morning to help Hagrid clean out the enclosure. They had to remove all the firedrakes, but at least Dumbledore wasn’t opposed to them being temporarily rehoused in an empty part of the castle. Once they were out, Dagmar was happy to lend an extra wand in removing all the substrate and various sticks, logs, and evergreen leaves that had made up the firedrakes’ living space. Draco, Dagmar, and Hagrid even went so far as to find new rocks to house the bonfire, and started it fresh with new logs. It was a tough day, but Draco enjoyed watching the firedrakes settle in once they’d been moved back. The new environment brought out their exploratory nature. Only a couple became territorial about particularly appealing sections, hissing at any others that came too close.

Hagrid returned from his cabin with a couple extra mugs, which he handed to Draco and Dagmar with a sidelong glance. “Don’ tell Dumbledore I gave yeh that.”

“Mum’s the word,” Draco replied. He was grateful for anything in his stomach, and the warmth the drink provided was unmistakeable. Perhaps because Draco’s lunch had long-digested, he was certainly feeling the effects of the mead by the time he took a seat in the Great Hall.

Changing out the enclosure materials paid off hugely. Draco punctuated doing his homework with Dagmar in the library by heading back down to check on the firedrakes’ healing progress. Jormundr was the first to be deemed recovered, his bronze scales shiny with health, and the green tips of his feet and wings vibrant once again. He perked up in disposition as well, which made him annoying since he grew jealous of Draco handling the other firedrakes. Eventually Draco just had to accept that Jormundr would worm his head in underneath Draco’s arm, or stand behind Draco and put his front feet up on Draco’s shoulder. Draco had to shrug him off when he did that since his claws dug in to the point of breaking skin one day. He ended up having to go to Madam Pomfrey for something to prevent the accidental wounds from getting infected.

“Tha’s four recovered,” Hagrid said early the next week after checking the remaining over. “We’ll keep treating ‘em ’til they’re all good jus’ in case, but this should be cleared up before lessons start again Monday.”

“Seems like it,” Draco agreed. Since he was done rubbing ointment into the firedrakes for the day, he sat with his legs pretzeled and Jormundr’s heavy head on his thigh. Jormundr sighed on every exhale, a sign he enjoyed the attention.

“Thanks fer all yer help. Couldn’ imagine dealing with this alone, had yeh gone home for the holidays.”

“It’s nothing.” Draco paused, looking down at Jormundr’s drooping eyelids as Hagrid shifted logs in the bonfire with a large metal pipe. “If all goes well, it’s what I’ll be doing past June.”

“Tha’ so?”

Draco nodded. “I’m hoping to get on at a dragon reserve.”

“I won’ lie ’n’ say I wouldn’ be envious, if yeh did.” Hagrid chuckled. “Always liked dragons. That’s what I meself would be doin’ if I wasn’ at Hogwarts. Where’d yeh apply?”

“Jotunheimen, and then all the English-speaking ones.”

“Yeh’ll be happy ter know that when I did up yer testament letter for yer applications, I mentioned the firedrakes.” Hagrid tossed some new logs on the fire with a hefty grunt. “I don’ think they’re a common thing fer students yer age ter handle. The amoun’ o’ red tape I had ter go through fer them was like nothin’ else.”

“I was definitely surprised you managed to get your hands on some.”

A voice came from not far outside the firedrake enclosure. “Excuse me, Mr. Hagrid?”

The urgency in the address turned Hagrid serious. He headed toward the exit. “What can I do fer yeh?”

“I didn’t know who else to ask.” The boy sounded young and shy. “I found a cat shut in a cabinet up at the castle. It looks to me like it was in there for a while.”

Draco pushed Jormundr’s head off him harder than he meant to, earning a disapproving grunt that Draco hardly registered as he jumped up.

He peered past Hagrid at the kid, and his breath caught in his throat. “Heimdall.”

Draco took him out of the boy’s arms. There was hardly any weight to Heimdall at all. All his fat had disappeared, leaving a sack of bones in its wake. Draco couldn’t find it in him to be embarrassed that his eyes stung as he squeezed the cat.

“He don’ look good, Malfoy,” Hagrid said in a low tone behind him. “You better bring ‘im over to my cabin.”

“Do you know who Dagmar Ramstad is?” Draco asked the boy as Hagrid closed up the enclosure.

The boy toyed with his hands in front of him. “Er. . .yeah, I think so.”

“Tall, blonde woman,” Draco said. “She should be in the library. This cat is hers. Would you tell her he’s been found, and to come down to Hagrid’s cabin?”

“I can do that.”

The boy ran off as best he could along the path broken through the snow. Draco followed Hagrid toward his cabin. Heimdall wasn’t himself at all. He didn’t make a peep other than the rasp of his breaths. He tried to purr, but quickly stopped.

“It’s okay,” Draco whispered to him in Norwegian. “You’re going to be okay.”

Hagrid held his cabin door open for Draco when they reached it. “Put ‘im on the bed. He’s gonna need water more ’n anything fer now. How long did yeh say he was missin’?”

“Three weeks.”

Draco eased Heimdall down onto the end of Hagrid’s bed. His ribs rose and fell in quick succession. In better light, Draco could see just what poor condition Heimdall had deteriorated into. His coat had lost all its shine, and missed large patches that Heimdall had probably eaten out of desperation. His eyes were barely open. His paws, where his fur wasn’t so thick, were like bony sticks. Even the muscle was mostly gone.

Hagrid let out a low whistle. “Yer lucky he’s a magical cat. Anything else would o’ been long dead.”

That didn’t necessarily make Draco feel better. They’d found Heimdall before that could happen, but would it be any good? Could it still be too late?

Draco pulled up a chair and held the bowl of water Hagrid had poured so that Hagrid could place a towel underneath Heimdall’s head. Draco set the bowl there, and wet his fingers so that he could try to entice Heimdall with it. He doubted Heimdall would have the energy to stand up and get to the bowl himself, but he at least stirred a little when Draco lifted his lip to let a couple drops of water fall into his mouth. His tongue sounded rougher than usual as he weakly lapped up the slow stream.

“That’s encouragin’ he’s takin’ it,” Hagrid said as he headed back toward his kitchenette. “I’ll make him somethin’ ter eat if he’ll take it. He’s gonna need some protein. Hate ter say it, it’s good he’s alive ’n’ all, but be prepared fer a bit of a long haul as he recovers.”

“I don’t care how long it takes.”

Draco fought off a tight throat as he kept on giving Heimdall water. He jumped when a rapid knock sounded at the cabin door. Hagrid hardly had a chance to open it before Dagmar came in, her cheeks rosy and expression tight. She beelined for where Draco sat.

“Herregud.” Her face fell as she looked at Heimdall, eyes growing shiny with tears. She brought her hands up to her mouth. “Herregud, look at him. Is he going to be all right?”

“Hope so,” was all Draco could really say at this point.

Although Dagmar surely understood Draco couldn’t give her a definitive answer, she fell quiet after accepting the chair Hagrid offered her. Dagmar ran her fingers down Heimdall in a comforting motion, occasionally sniffling and sighing as she quietly cried.

“He’s taking the water easier,” Draco said after what felt like forever.

“Tha’s good,” Hagrid replied. “Let’s see if he’ll eat somethin’.”

Hagrid had browned some ground meat. He put a tiny amount on a saucer, which Draco set next to the water dish, intent to hand-feed. He hesitated when Heimdall tried to move. It may have taken him a moment to come up to his four haunches, but Heimdall held his own as he picked greedily at the plate.

“My poor boy,” Dagmar said as she ran her hand down his back. “I can feel his spine like nothing.”

“He ain’ in good shape, I’ll grant yeh that,” Hagrid told them with a closed fist on his hip. “He’s gonna need a slow diet comin’ back up ter his regular weight. Feed ‘im too much too fast, ’n’ it can be bad news.”

“He’ll be okay, though?” Dagmar asked.

“I don’ wanna say for sure jus’ in case I’m wrong, but he’s eatin’ ’n’ drinkin’.” Hagrid took a seat behind them, closer to the table. “If we’re careful, he’ll come back ter himself. Maybe yeh ought ter leave ‘im here with me fer a while. I’m up all the time fer Fang anyway havin’ ter go out, so I can feed him more regularly than yeh’d be able to in yer dorms. Don’ be afraid ter come visit ‘im, o’ course.”

Dagmar wiped one eye with the heel of her hand. “Okay.”

“Cuppa tea?”

Draco could certainly use one. He cradled the warm mug, while Dagmar’s cooled on the table. Heimdall had drank some more water on his own after finishing his food and laid back down. He weakly purred as Dagmar pet him, his eyes opening briefly when Hagrid let out one hell of a sneeze into the crook of his elbow.

“Well, I’m glad he’s alive,” Dagmar said as Heimdall’s purrs tapered off with him drifting to sleep. “Where was he? That boy that found me, I think he said, but I kind of stopped listening after he said Heimr was down here.”

“In a cabinet somewhere,” Draco recalled. “. . .I think. I wasn’t really listening either.”

It didn’t make much sense to Draco. Cats usually made a racket if they got stuck somewhere, did they not?

“All that time I spent on the grounds looking for him.” Dagmar’s eyes grew wet again. “What a waste, while he was in the castle.”

“Don’t blame yourself,” Draco gently told her. “It made more sense he was outside. I didn’t think of it either.”

“I just feel bad.”

“I know. Me too.”

It was getting late by the time Draco and Dagmar finished their tea. Dagmar had at least calmed down with Heimdall’s marked improvement in such a short period of time. Hagrid went about making Heimdall a bed of his own for the time being so that he could have constant access to water. He also made a litter box with some soil from a mound in his garden.

Heimdall’s bed consisted of a folded up quilt inside a three-sided crate. Draco moved him to it, where he curled back up.

“At least he seems comfortable here,” he said.

“Thank you, Hagrid,” Dagmar bid him with another sniffle. “I don’t know how to say just how grateful I am.”

“Don’t yeh worry ‘bout that.” Hagrid’s eyes warmed as he smiled. “Yeh jus’ try ’n’ feel better now yeh know he’s gonna be okay. He’s far from the firs’ cat I’ve had ter care for.”

Dagmar had come running down to Hagrid’s so quickly she hadn’t bothered to grab a jacket first. Draco gave her his, since he had layered up. He braced with folded arms against the wind when they stepped outside. Hagrid’s cabin had been cozy with the fire. They rushed up to the castle.

The boy that found Heimdall sat on the bottom of the staircase in the Entrance Hall. He stood up when they came in. “How is he?”

“Better than he was,” was the most honest answer Draco figured he could give. “Thanks to you. What was your name? I don’t think you mentioned.”

“Max.” He smiled, his round cheeks plumping up with it.

“Where did you find him?” Draco asked. “We were looking for weeks.”

“I can show you.”

Max led them past the staircase, deeper into the first floor and past the library. They rounded a corner, and Draco saw a particular cabinet that jogged his memory. Sure enough, Max stopped beside it.

“I heard some scratching at the door,” Max said. “I thought maybe it was Peeves messing around, but I’m glad I looked.”

“We are too.” Draco touched Dagmar’s back. “It’s probably time you head off back to Gryffindor Tower for the night, Max. Take fifty house points with you.”

“Really?” Max’s eyes grew wide.

“Gryffindors are supposed to be brave, right?” Draco shrugged. “I don’t know that _I_ would’ve looked in a cabinet, if I heard something rustling around.”

Looking quite proud of himself, Max headed off back toward the Entrance Hall. There was a closer way back to the dungeons that Draco led Dagmar toward by her hand. As soon as they were alone, Dagmar pulled Draco into a tight hug. He rubbed her back, occasionally pressing a kiss to the side of her head.

“I feel so terrible he was in there all this time,” Dagmar said. “Thank god someone noticed.”

“The important thing is he’ll be okay.” Draco sighed. “He was drinking and eating already. He held on. Try not to feel too bad. This was a weird place for him to wind up. No wonder he was gone for three weeks.”

“Ja.” Dagmar rubbed her eyes when she pulled away. They were irritated by the lack of moisture. “I’ll try to focus on that. It’s no good to him for me to feel guilty. It won’t get him better any faster.”

They were halfway back to the Slytherin common room when Dagmar remembered she’d left her things in the library. Draco went on ahead to start a warm shower, brow slightly furrowed by its own accord as he stepped in under the stream. That was the same cabinet that Montague had vanished into, back in Draco’s fifth year. The only way he’d made it out was because he apparated. That made sense why it took Heimdall so long to resurface, but how had he gotten in there in the first place? Montague had been shoved in by the Weasley twins.

“You’re in here?” Dagmar’s echoing voice sounded by the bathroom door.

“Coming in?”

Some semblance of a better mood settled between them as Draco watched Dagmar undress from around the curtain. It seemed to have settled in more with her that, despite where Heimdall had been found and in what condition, the important thing was that he was back. Dagmar was happier as the two of them sought some shared heat after catching chill outside. Draco was certainly relieved to see Dagmar grin again in a way that wasn’t affected by the shadow of this.


	21. Slytherin Pride

Dagmar was bursting at the seams when the Hogwarts Express returned on Sunday to tell her friends that Heimdall had been found. Milly looked relieved by it, and Daphne gave her a hug.

“That’s wonderful!” she said as she relinquished Dagmar. “Is he okay?”

“He will be.” Dagmar could say it with some degree of certainty, now that Hagrid had established a care routine that seemed to work. “He needs to regain some weight and get his metabolism back to normal. His fur is starting to grow back in. His eye, though. . .”

“What about it?” Daphne hesitantly prompted her.

“He went blind in one.” Dagmar still struggled with it. “It’s not something that can heal.”

“Aw, that’s so sad. But at least he’s alive, right? I wasn’t sure we’d be seeing him again, to tell you the truth.”

“Me neither.” Dagmar pressed her lips together. “He can live half-blind. Not much you can do when you’re dead.”

“That’s for sure.”

They all sat down at the Slytherin table for the welcome-back feast. Neither Dagmar or Draco had much to share about their holidays other than what was going on with Heimdall, and Draco filled Luca in on the scale rot situation with the firedrakes.

“Feel bad I missed that, honestly,” Luca said. “I would’ve liked to help.”

Dagmar leaned forward to see past Draco. “What’d you do for the holidays? Go back to Romania?”

“Da, went and visited my grandparents.” Luca smiled. “I missed them. It takes a long time for letters to get here. Granted, not as long as to and from Durmstrang.”

“And your dad?” Draco asked before his eyes widened a bit. He coughed on his turkey. “Sorry—I just realized you’ve never mentioned one.”

“Don’t have one, but don’t worry, it’s not what you think,” Luca brightly replied, filling his fork with mashed potatoes. “Mamă adopted me by herself.”

“I didn’t realize you were adopted,” Theo said on the opposite side of the table.

“Da, when she retired.”

“Oh well.” Draco shrugged. “Family’s family, I guess. Right?”

Dagmar pressed more up against Draco’s side, endeared by the sentiment. She certainly felt that way about him and, after being away from their friends for a couple weeks, realized that they too were starting to feel like a batch of siblings she’d never had the luxury of before.

* * *

Harry sat on the opposite side of the Great Hall. He’d positioned himself on purpose to be able to see through gaps in the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff students to where Malfoy and Ramstad sat.

Kingsley had come by Grimmauld Place the previous evening with a decent chunk of information on Ramstad’s family. The manor in Berkshire had been purchased by her great-grandfather, Anders Ramstad, in 1940. He ended up not moving along with his wife and kids right away because, around the same time, the Second Muggle World War spread to where they lived in Oslo. Anders stayed behind to help the rest of the wizarding community undermine the invading armies, for which he’d earned an Order of Merlin and its equivalent in Norway after the war ended.

He’d died in 1970, just when Voldemort started making himself known in Britain. Anders’ son Johannes inhabited the property then, whose name poked Dumbledore’s memory as someone they’d anticipated would approach the Order to offer help, but he never did. Johannes opted to stay out of it altogether, which led to his isolation from the greater British wizarding community. It didn’t help that his kids didn’t attend Hogwarts. Agneta, Håkon, and Erik all stayed in Norway after completing their education, until Erik moved back when Johannes passed away in 1990.

Harry was at a loss how, in three generations, a family went from fighting Nazis to swearing loyalty to Voldemort. Hildegard and Erik didn’t even want to be there. Harry had noticed it first, and so had everyone else later on as they visited the memory in the pensieve. Even though they had to take into consideration that memories weren’t an objective source of truth, Dumbledore and Kingsley deemed their lack of enthusiasm something Mr. Crabbe and Mr. Goyle would’ve had no reason to lie about.

“Maybe they didn’t have a choice,” Hermione had suggested.

“Like how it’s always been join or die?” Ron asked.

“Or they have history with this Norheim too.”

If that was true, Harry was happy they as a group committed to getting to the bottom of it. If Norheim had something Voldemort wanted that similarly affected the Ramstads, they could be incredibly valuable in turning the tide of the war. Norheim had to be important. Other than trying for and subsequently losing the prophecy, Voldemort hadn’t seemed to spare a single thought toward Harry. The only exception would be if whatever Norheim possessed could also turn the tide for Voldemort.

This wasn’t like the prophecy. The Order knew then what Voldemort sought, even if they hadn’t told Harry. Nobody knew about this. Harry had been present the very first time any of them heard Norheim’s name. If Voldemort had been searching for him for several years already, he had an unnerving head start.

Harry wished he could be doing like Kingsley and Dumbledore, in actively seeking answers outside this castle. Instead, Harry was stuck organizing all the homework he’d done over the holidays and looking forward to finishing up the last little bit that he hadn’t. McGonagall’s at least wasn’t due until Wednesday.

Heading down to the greenhouses Monday morning made Harry feel like the holidays hadn’t even happened. He humoured Hermione after she finished Arithmancy in the afternoon by accompanying her to the library. They had a fresh mound of homework from Professor Sprout and Professor Flitwick, which Hermione had the luxury of getting started on while Harry was still stuck on Transfiguration. It didn’t help that they ended up seated where, should Harry look up, he could see Ramstad through the open doors leading into study hall.

Hermione eventually noticed he wasn’t working. “Are you stuck on something?”

“No.” Harry’s gaze dropped back to his parchment. He’d been working on this particular essay for so long that it started to fray at the edges from being over-handled. “Just trying to get inside her head.”

Hermione looked over her shoulder. Ramstad chatted with Padma Patil about something.

“Me too.” Hermione sighed. “I wish I’d known before I talked to her out in the Forbidden Forest. I would’ve definitely approached her differently. I don’t think it’s a far leap to say she’s ashamed of her parents. Considering her family’s history, it would’ve been for her like if, say, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley decided to switch sides when You-Know-Who came back a few years ago. You don’t expect it to happen, and when it does, it doesn’t make any sense.”

“Unless something is forcing them,” Harry replied. “I wonder if Ramstad knows what that might be.”

“I wouldn’t have high hopes of being able to ask her outright.” The heel of Hermione’s hand dug into her cheek as she carried on with her Herbology homework. “I will if the right time comes up, but she’s still mad about how we left off before the holidays. She wouldn’t even look at me when I said hello.”

“That’s too bad.”

Harry didn’t have any access to Malfoy either. Even if Harry _wanted_ to talk to him after the Gryffindor-Slytherin Quidditch fiasco, Malfoy was just as unhappy about how it all turned out.

Tuesday morning, Harry took a seat next to Ron in Defence. His dread reemerged as Parasca greeted them all. “Good morning, and welcome back. I hope you had a relaxing break. We’ll find out now just _how_ relaxing it was, if you all managed to sufficiently clear your minds before bed each night. Today we’ll be starting Occlumency and Legilimency.

“Occlumency is the act of protecting yourself against Legilimency, which is the ability to peer into someone’s mind.” Parasca idly walked down the aisle. “It is not normally something that would be taught in a classroom setting beyond theory, at least as far as your NEWT examination is concerned. However, I believe—and the Headmaster agrees—that it is a valuable skill to leave Hogwarts with. Voldemort himself is an accomplished Legilimens, as are many of his Death Eaters.

“I’ll have you all pair up with somebody that will be your partner for this unit,” Parasca continued. “Mr. Potter and Ms. Ramstad, if I could have a word.”

The rest of the class went serious after mention of Voldemort’s name, but came back around in order to make low ‘ _oooooh_ ’ noises as Harry headed up to Parasca’s desk. He glanced at Ramstad as she came from the other side of the room, but he might as well have been invisible for all the attention she paid him in return.

“I was informed by Professor Snape that both of you have received private lessons from him on this.” Professor Parasca used the din of the class as cover for telling them that. “Since you’re both familiar with the concepts, I would prefer to see you two pair up.”

“Okay,” Harry said.

Ramstad just nodded. Professor Parasca left to check on everyone else’s progress toward finding a partner. Harry turned awkward as Ramstad finally looked at him, her brow low and lips pursed. He cleared his throat. “Er, did you want to come sit by me then, or. . .?”

“Sure.”

Harry returned to Ron. “Parasca wants me to pair up with Ramstad.”

Ron’s shoulders slumped. “Damn, Hermione’s already gone with Neville. That leaves. . .” his voice dropped to a whisper, “fuck.”

Malfoy didn’t look pleased either. He sat with his arms crossed, glowering at Ron as he headed over. Harry faced forward as Ramstad took Ron’s old seat.

Professor Parasca continued speaking once everyone had settled. “Occlumency is a difficult skill to obtain. It requires a great deal of mental fortitude, similar to resisting something like the Imperius Curse. A noisy mind is a vulnerable mind. Legilimency is markedly easier. Repeat after me: _legilimens!_ ”

The class said it back in tandem, then again when Parasca wasn’t entirely satisfied. After that, she asked them to pull out their wands. “Decide between you and your partner who will be attempting Legilimency, and who will be performing Occlumency. There is no wand movement for the Legilimency spell—you merely need to point it at the target while speaking the incantation.”

Ramstad seemed to have accepted her and Harry’s lot for this class. She wasn’t as sullen when Harry turned his chair to face her. Her gaze was still shrewd.

“Which would you rather?” she asked. “I’m quite practiced at Occlumency. What about you?”

“Er. . .” Harry felt his cheeks grow warm. “Honestly, not really. I did private lessons with Snape during fifth year, but I didn’t take much from it. I know all the theory, just not. . .yeah.”

“So would you rather I started with Legilimency?”

Harry’s insides ran cold as a thought occurred to him. He’d never much managed to protect his mind against that kind of penetration, and what else— _who_ else had dominated his thoughts more than Ramstad lately? Harry wished he could go back to doing this with Ron. Surely Ramstad would rather practice with Malfoy.

“I guess,” Harry had no other choice but to say. “Just give me a minute.”

He lowered his chin. What could Harry possibly accomplish right here and now that he hadn’t in the last two years of knowing Occlumency’s basic tenets? What choice did Harry have _not_ to? If Ramstad didn’t take well Hermione mentioning mere rumours about her family, how would she handle Harry knowing for sure that her parents were in Voldemort’s service?

“Okay.” Harry looked at her again. “I’m ready to try.”

She nodded and lifted her wand. “ _Legilimens._ ”

As if he viewed them through the filter of a dream, images popped up in Harry’s mind. The first was from when Malfoy had confronted him in the Entrance Hall about complaining to Madam Hooch, his pointed features rounded with indignation. Dumbledore flashed through next, standing at the front of the Great Hall Sunday evening as he welcomed everyone back from their Christmas holidays. An old Quidditch practice appeared. There was green grass present, and the sun was high in the sky.

The spell wore off. Ramstad appeared again in front of Harry.

“Confirm with your partner what you saw,” Parasca was saying. “You’ll notice that basic Legilimency doesn’t offer much an opportunity to delve too deeply.”

“I saw Draco,” Ramstad told Harry. “Dumbledore, then. . .Quidditch, was it?”

“Practice.”

Ramstad nodded. “Did you want to try?”

“Sure.” Harry felt a bit better about it. “Ready?”

“Whenever you are.”

Harry pointed his wand at her. “ _Legilimens_.”

Nothing happened. Ramstad blinked at him, then smirked when Harry tried again to no avail. “Would you like me to ease off a bit to give you a honest shot?”

Harry fended back a twinge of annoyance. While Ramstad’s confidence about her abilities was on par with Hermione, she tended toward a familiar arrogance. No wonder Malfoy liked her so much.

“If you wouldn’t mind,” Harry stiffly replied.

He tried it again. Ramstad’s eyes shifted out of focus before images started flashing in Harry’s mind similar to when their positions were switched. He saw Ramstad’s cat sitting up on a windowsill, its fluffy tail swishing as it looked outside. There was some kind of room full with lots of tall adults dressed up nicely. Erik Ramstad flashed through last, smoking a pipe with a furrowed brow while reading a book on his lap.

Ramstad scrunched her eyes together in discomfort at the spell’s end.

“I saw your cat,” Harry said. “Er, a party from when you were younger, maybe? Then a man smoking.”

“My dad,” Ramstad quietly confirmed.

They went back and forth like that. Harry was beginning to see now what Snape meant when he tried to differentiate this from mind-reading. There wasn’t a whole lot to take from the snippets he saw of Ramstad’s life because he wasn’t familiar with it. He didn’t have the full context to give everything meaning, unlike when it was glimpses of _his_ life shared between them. Not all of them even had meaning. There were plenty from Harry’s life that were just humdrum moments: doing homework in Gryffindor Tower, looking out the train window at the passing landscape, and walking down toward the lake. Those ones he didn’t even know particularly when they’d happened, so how would somebody else?

Hermione was already brainstorming about the homework assignment as she, Harry, and Ron headed for the dungeons after the bell rang. “It would be a useful spell as an Auror if you wanted to interrogate someone you don’t think is being entirely honest. You would have to be quite proficient. I imagine once you do, it’s more feasible to poke around and see what you want to see, rather than glimpses of gardens and stuff like that. That’s not very useful.”

“Not so loud.” Ron rubbed his temple. “I need a moment of peace before we get to Potions.”

Harry laughed while Hermione sniffed disapprovingly.

“Did you two see anything useful then?” she asked.

“Not sure,” Harry replied. “A lot of it was nonsense to me. I recognized people and some places, but not all of it. Even then, yeah, just glimpses. Bits of Hogwarts, flashes of people like you, or Malfoy, or her parents.”

“Same here,” Ron said. “I wonder if Parasca will actually give us the opportunity in class to become better at Legilimency, or if she only means for us to stick to the basics so that we can focus on Occlumency.”

“Hard to know if we’re getting better at Occlumency, isn’t it, if the Legilimency isn’t getting harder to fight off?” Harry asked.

“Potter,” a familiar oily voice came from behind them as they passed Snape’s office.

Harry glanced back as the three of them stopped walking. He sighed to himself. “Meet you in class.”

Ron and Hermione carried on while Harry doubled back. Snape closed his office door once Harry was inside. Harry braced himself with his hand tight on his bag strap, unsure what to expect. He hadn’t even had a chance yet to hand in his homework from over the holiday, so he hadn’t earned a horrible grade on it.

Snape folded his arms. “You began learning Occlumency with Professor Parasca today?”

“Yes.”

“Did she pair you with Ms. Ramstad?”

Harry nodded.

“I hinted to Professor Parasca that you two would be ahead of the class.” Snape’s upper lip curled, as if it legitimately hurt him to even imply he complimented Harry’s skill. “Since she used that information, you should turn the situation into something useful for the Order. Ms. Ramstad may lower her guard in a classroom setting.”

“Right.”

“Do be careful, though,” Snape drawled. “Without years of successful practice like _she’s_ had, I sincerely doubt you’ll manage to see much before she would shut you out completely. Make it count.”

“Okay.”

Snape gestured at his office door. Harry left as quickly as he could, and ended up stuck behind a wall of the four Slytherins in his Potions class. Nott was regaling Malfoy, Ramstad, and Zabini with a tale about his drunk uncle at Christmas, to much amusement.

Harry was happy to remain invisible behind them until he could cut to the back of the class where he usually sat. Unfortunately, Ernie had beat Harry there, so he couldn’t pass along what Snape had said until after they’d been released for lunch (with yet another three feet of homework to boot).

“Snape said I should be practicing Legilimency as much as Occlumency, basically,” Harry recounted to Ron and Hermione. “I could use it to try and poke around Ramstad.”

“I ought to do the same, I guess,” Ron said. “Malfoy might have something to give up.”

“You’d better act quick,” Hermione told him. “Malfoy will be practicing Occlumency with Dagmar. He’ll catch on fast.”

“He already has,” Ron glumly replied. “He was toying with me in class, trying to make me think I couldn’t cast the Legilimency spell.”

“Well, if Snape thinks I have a shot on getting into Ramstad’s mind after she’s been doing this since third year, you have a shot too,” Harry said. “Just have to make it count, like Snape said.”

* * *

Milly chewed thoughtfully on the herring fillet Dagmar had given her while the two of them and Daphne sat up in their dorm. “You know, it’s not bad at all. It kind of reminds me of pickles or sauerkraut, except with fish.”

“That’s all it is,” Dagmar said. “Daphne, you wanted to try?”

“Hit me.”

Dagmar levitated another fillet out of the jar and set it on a napkin for Daphne. She popped it confidently into her mouth whole before a gag brought it right back out. Milly cracked with laughter, Dagmar rapidly joining in.

“I’m sorry, that’s disgusting,” Daphne said. “Oh my god.”

Dagmar wiped her eyes. They leaked from the force of her now-sore guts. “That’s my culture you’re spitting out, you know.”

“I wanted to like it! I really did.”

“It’s okay.” Dagmar returned to her bed, content to have the remainder of her herring to herself. She fetched another fillet out of the jar. “Heimr hates it too, and he was born there.”

Dagmar pet him with her free hand. Thanks to Hagrid’s help over the past couple weeks, Heimdall had managed to regain a couple of the ten pounds he’d lost while trapped in the cabinet. He was well enough to come up to the castle for the weekend, provided Dagmar fed him right before bed and then again first thing in the morning. She needed to bring Heimdall down to Hagrid’s cabin before lunch to get checked up on.

“I won’t tease him with it to show you, but he gags like that,” Dagmar chuckled before switching to Norwegian. “Fussy boy.”

Heimdall made a noise in his throat and briefly closed his eyes. His left one had gone milky. Other than brittle nails and his coat still recovering, Heimdall was otherwise coming along nicely. He almost had enough strength now to jump up onto Dagmar’s bed without help.

Movement in the corner of Dagmar’s gaze pulled her attention away from Heimdall to the dorm’s door. Pansy stood there, coming to a halt before fully entering. She was still hesitant before sitting down on her bed. Dagmar shared an uncertain glance with Daphne when Pansy didn’t shut her curtain in attempt to ignore them.

Pansy looked around. “What’re you three up to?”

Dagmar shrugged along with Milly and Daphne. “Not a whole lot. Just winding down before bed.”

“Did you need something?” Milly asked.

“Not really.” Pansy toed the floor. Something pressed up against Dagmar’s bum. She glanced behind her to see that Heimdall had wormed his way in under the blanket. “Kinda. . .I dunno. It’s been a while since we hung out.”

“I can’t really remember why.” Milly folded her fingers behind her head. “Maybe give us a bit of a refresher?”

Pansy frowned. “Are you really going to make me apologize for something so stupid?”

“Well, you’re not going to walk in here and start pretending that nothing ever happened,” Milly replied. “We’ve been doing just fine without you. Thought you had new friends, anyway, over in Gryffindor?”

“You don’t have to rub it in.” Pansy stood up to slide her curtain shut. “Sod off.”

Milly shrugged when Dagmar looked at her. “Seems I touched a nerve.”

Daphne pressed her lips briefly. “Pansy?”

“What?” she tersely replied.

“Why did you come up here? Really?”

“I thought maybe, after all these years, we were still friends,” she snipped. “You all sounded like you were having fun. Guess it was just because I wasn’t here. I can leave if you like.”

“It’s your space too,” Daphne quietly conceded.

Dagmar didn’t really know what to think about Pansy trying to slink her way back in. It made her nervous because when Pansy, Daphne, and Milly used to be closer, it was at Dagmar’s expense. She wanted to believe that things wouldn’t go back that way, but the memory of how they all used to treat her wasn’t very far in the past.

“We can talk about it if you like, but you’re going to have to hear some hard truths,” Milly warned her. “I’m speaking for all of us when I say you’ve left a bad taste in our mouths. You used to treat me like your ugly friend that made you feel better. You always called Daphne a bimbo behind her back. I don’t think I even have to get started on everything you’ve done to make Dagmar’s life miserable.”

Rustling sounded from behind Pansy’s curtain before she threw it back open. Her face was blotchy with anger.

“What’s the matter?” Pansy shot at Dagmar before looking at Daphne. “You two can’t speak for yourselves?”

Daphne’s eyes widened when put on the spot. She shrugged, playing with the corner of her blanket. “I don’t really know what to say.”

Dagmar felt like she had a lot to say, and yet she had no idea how to sum it all up beyond, “I don’t think we’ll ever be friends. I really don’t like you, and I certainly don’t trust you.”

“I guess that’s that, then.” Pansy nearly choked on her words. Dagmar couldn’t tell if it was because she was sad or mad. “Oh well, I got what was coming to me, right? I lost everything this year. I’ve got nothing.”

“I’d feel sorry for you, if you weren’t such a bitch,” Milly said.

That prompted Pansy to close her curtain again. The room grew quickly awkward. Dagmar didn’t feel like she could speak openly to Milly and Daphne when Pansy was there, and it didn’t help at all that muffled sniffling and crying came from Pansy’s bed.

“I think I’m going to tuck in,” Dagmar said as the three of them shared an uncertain look.

“Yeah, me too,” Daphne quietly replied while Milly nodded.

Dagmar closed her curtain and was halfway into bed when she remembered she needed to feed Heimdall first. She brought out some of the meat currently kept cool in her Alltid-Kaldt canister, and heated it briefly on a small saucer.

“Heimr,” she tried to draw him out with a trill in his name. It usually worked, but he remained a lump under the blanket. “Heimr, come on, little boy. Aren’t you hungry?”

He still didn’t budge. Frowning, Dagmar pushed back the blankets. He tried to burrow deeper.

“Why’re you hiding?” she whispered to him. “Come.”

Dagmar reached under the cover after Heimdall. She froze when her hand found him. He was trembling like a leaf in autumn wind.

“What’s the matter?” she asked. Heimdall didn’t have anywhere to go once he reached the end of the bed. He crowded the edge, his good eye as dilated as his bad one when Dagmar peered in. “Why’re you acting like this?”

Realization washed down over Dagmar like hot molasses, leaving heat in her cheeks before it managed to hit her heart and stomach. Heimdall had crawled in under the covers when Pansy came back to the dorm. Although his behaviour had certainly changed after his close brush with death, this was too drastic for Dagmar to glean any meaning other than Heimdall was telling her who had put him in the cabinet.

Dagmar managed to smile while comforting him with a pet, emotions completely departed. “It’s okay, little boy. She’ll get what she deserves.”


	22. Providence

Harry didn’t think the professors could assign more homework than in the first half of the school year. He even got the impression that they were trying to make up for lost time, as if they’d somehow slacked before Christmas. It was so much that, despite Harry’s anticipation for the next time Kingsley came to Hogwarts, he was relieved their first meeting of the new term was postponed. Kingsley had yet to return from Norway.

While Hermione headed off to Arithmancy after lunch the next Friday, Harry did his best with Ron in the library to make some sort of headway into the various tortures put on them. Snape was particularly relentless, almost as if he didn’t know Harry, Ron, and Hermione had other things going on. He’d also started putting the pressure on everyone to get serious about their final projects. He hinted that anybody who didn’t present something decent by the deadline would receive at best a P in his class. Harry didn’t doubt that for a minute. Even if he managed to get an O on the NEWT, a P on his Hogwarts record would tarnish that immensely in the eyes of the Ministry.

Hermione joined them when her class let out. She made more headway in fifteen minutes than Harry did in an hour. As two-thirty neared, it was just useless to keep trying.

“Afternoon,” Harry greeted Kingsley when he opened the door to Dumbledore’s office. He stopped shortly inside, making Ron walk into his back. “Er. . .hi.”

The table Dumbledore usually conjured for these meeting had some length added to it. Beside where Snape would usually sit, arms crossed and expressions set, were Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle. Despite their grumpy appearance, both gave a jerky nod in response.

“We have some new additions,” Dumbledore said with a smile. “Kingsley and I just finished catching them up.”

Harry wasn’t completely sure on this, but he trusted Dumbledore’s judgement. Crabbe and Goyle’s fathers were willing to turn information over to the Order, after all, and as soon as Voldemort realized that, anyone bearing their surnames would most likely be at some level of risk. As a sign of good faith over the holidays, Dumbledore had overseen Crabbe and Goyle seniors visiting their families. Maybe such a gesture was more impactful than Harry expected.

Crabbe cleared his throat in mild discomfort as Harry, Ron, and Hermione took their usual seats. “We don’t have a whole lot to bring to the table for information. When my dad had to leave this summer, my mum told me I was better off not hanging around with Malfoy anymore, since his dad had something to do with it. Not like I would’ve wanted to anyway, after that.”

“Me neither,” Goyle agreed. “We’ve been keeping our ears open where we can. Dumbledore said you already know Malfoy isn’t involved with You-Know-Who, so. . .”

Goyle scratched his forehead while glancing at Dumbledore.

“Didn’t think it would sound true coming from us,” Crabbe said. “Maybe more like we were trying to protect him, since it isn’t like we can give any proof.”

“What sort of things do you overhear?” Hermione asked.

“Er, they’ll talk more openly in the dorm.” Crabbe cleared his throat again. “Malfoy, Nott, and Zabini, I mean. There was a big row between Malfoy and Nott back in September after the Quidditch tryouts—big shouting match, you could hear it in the common room. You might have heard about that. Otherwise they just talk about homework, Quidditch, or their girlfriends. Or—fiancée, for Nott. Him and Greengrass are engaged.”

“They are?” Harry was taken aback by that. He couldn’t imagine committing to someone like that when they hadn’t even left Hogwarts yet.

“Arranged marriage,” Goyle said.

“Oh god, those still happen?” Ron wrinkled his nose. “My mum told us all once that she was lined up with someone, so was dad, but both of them gave it up to be with each other instead.”

“They don’t happen for everyone,” Crabbe told them. “There were only two pairs from our year. Nott and Greengrass, and then Malfoy and Parkinson, although one or the other of those two called it off. Most likely Malfoy, but he won’t tell.”

Harry nodded slowly. The idea of his parents deciding who he would spend the rest of his life with was enough to make him sweat a little.

“It’s not something the participants speak openly about prior to their engagements, if even really afterward, beyond their social circles,” Dumbledore pitched in. “More traditional families try to keep it alive for the sake of their blood purity. My own did, long ago.”

“I guess if you’re worried about that. . .” Harry shrugged. To him it sounded like being forced, but when he looked at Nott and Greengrass, it never occurred to him that they were together for any reason other than they wanted to be. Considering Malfoy opted out, that implied there was ultimately a choice, like any other normal type of relationship.

Professor McGonagall and Snape showed up during the lull of conversation to follow. Neither looked surprised to see Crabbe and Goyle there. McGonagall greeted them in the same brisk way she did Harry, Ron, and Hermione, and Snape spared them each a nod. Crabbe and Goyle looked more comfortable with him there beside them.

“Good afternoon everyone,” Kingsley started the meeting with. He gestured at Crabbe and Goyle. “As you all know now, we have a few more members to add to the Hogwarts side of the Order. They’ve been briefed on everything we know so far. With that, I would like to jump in on what I’ve managed to learn while away in Norway.

“I spent some time in Oslo,” he said. “The Ramstads remain a prominent family within the wizarding community there, so they were quite easy to find information about. What I found at least confirmed most of what we knew previously about their presence in Britain. Anders Ramstad left Norway after the Second Muggle World War. He was quoted as saying in a newspaper when he received his Order of Thor that he would’ve liked to stay in the wake, but his wife and kids had settled in nicely over here. I’ll correct the record that Johannes didn’t actually inherit the manor estate. The wealth it generates is evenly distributed to all of Anders’ living descendants. Johannes only occupied the manor house. His three children remained in Norway once they left home, Erik returning after Johannes’ death as volunteer to mind the estate accounts.”

Kingsley paused for a moment, chin dipped as he gathered his thoughts to carry on. “Going back a bit, Erik lived in Tromsø from 1979 until 1985, when he and Hildegard purchased a home together in Bergen. He was the only one listed as the homeowner at his old residence. That doesn’t eliminate the possibility that Hildegard and Dagmar lived there with him, of course. When I looked through the public records, they say that Erik and Hildegard married in 1986.”

“Wait,” Harry spoke up. “Are you saying that Erik Ramstad might not even be Ra—Dagmar’s biological father?”

“I’ll admit that until things become clearer it’s a possibility, but I’m not jumping to that conclusion,” Kingsley replied. “There is a different culture in Norway surrounding marriage. It’s common for couples to wait much longer than they might here, or to ultimately just not bother. I actually thought maybe since Erik, Hildegard, and Dagmar all lived in Tromsø first, it answered the question as to why I couldn’t confirm Dagmar’s birth in Bergen.

“The strangeness _really_ begins when trying to find a starting place with Hildegard,” Kingsley said. “I can’t find her anywhere at all, prior to 1985. Dagmar wasn’t born at the Tromsø hospital either. She and Hildegard don’t appear until the three of them all moved to Bergen. This is only made stranger by what Dumbledore found, after speaking to the Headmistress up at Kapsferd.”

Dumbledore bowed his head. “Hildegard is a common name in Norway. Since we have yet to find out what Hildegard’s maiden name is, Helga sent me photos of every student with that name from 1970 to 1980. She doesn’t match any of them.”

Hermione’s scrunched up expression resembled Crabbe and Goyle’s. “She couldn’t have gone sooner than that?”

“I doubt it,” Dumbledore replied. “I don’t know her actual age, but I doubt she’s yet forty years old.”

“So. . .she didn’t go to school?” Hermione asked. “How could that be?”

“I’m currently waiting for responses from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons, to see if they can be any help.” Dumbledore folded his hands on the table. “I was able to confirm, however, that both Erik Ramstad and Magnus Norheim attended Kapsferd.”

“Did they know each other?” Harry asked.

“Perhaps, but at the moment it’s not clear,” Dumbledore said. “Magnus left there in 1976, Erik in 1979. Kapsferd doesn’t have a house system like we do here, just general dormitories split by gender, and then by year. I’ve requested their records of attendance in hopes Helga would be kind enough to lend them to me, if she’s even legally allowed. I don’t have high hopes since, were our positions switched, I would value my students’ privacy more than an inquiry out of the blue.”

“Here’s hoping, I guess.” Ron pressed his lips together, thinking. “What if Hildegard _was_ there, but she’s changed her name since? That’s kind of the feeling I’m getting. She only appears pretty much in 1985, right? Goyle’s dad figured there was history between You-Know-Who and the Ramstads. Erik obviously never changed his name, but maybe Hildegard did, for some reason. If that’s the case, then maybe Ramstad was born with a different name too, and that’s why we can’t find her mentioned in any birth records at the hospital.”

“I originally requested for births on August 15, 1980,” Kingsley said. “There were none at all in Tromsø that day, and the only ones that occurred at Olaf Kyrre were all boys.”

“Do we even know that’s her actual birthday?”

“There’s still the possibility Dagmar was born at home and Hildegard just didn’t volunteer that information to the Norwegian Ministry. It’s not required by law there either.”

Harry rubbed his forehead as the speed of his thoughts induced a slight headache. It didn’t seem like a good sign that they were questioning the most basic facts possible to know.

“Why would anyone go to such lengths to hide?” Hermione broke the pensive silence that fell over them all. “Why would they want to hide their child? The closest example I can even think of was Harry’s parents when You-Know-Who was going after them. But even _they_ didn’t change their names or hide their identity, or anything.”

“I’d definitely be interested in what Erik and Hildegard have to say,” Harry said. “And this Norheim, if we can find him. How do you even know where to start on that?”

“Put out feelers, and hope for the best.” Kingsley shrugged. “I’m currently cooking up a plan on how to approach the Ramstads, but I want as much information as possible before I do. We may only have one shot at that. Our best angle is certainly offering protection in exchange for information. Considering the apparent hesitance of the Ramstads to join the Death Eaters, coupled with Hildegard’s obscurity pre-1985, they might be very interested in that.”

Harry nodded along with everyone else.

“Was that all you had to share, Kingsley?” Dumbledore asked.

“Not quite,” Kingsley replied. “I wanted to relay the conversation I had with someone I spoke to in Bergen. Because everything was so up in the air with Hildegard and Dagmar prior to 1985, I wanted somebody to pin them down somewhere. When they left Bergen in 1990, Erik and Hildegard sold their house to Filip and Janne Dyrdahl. Janne and Hildegard happened to be friends for that five-year period. I ended up having a very interesting conversation with Janne that relays back to a lot we’ve discussed here over the months.

“Since I was asking about Dagmar as well as her parents, Janne eventually asked if she was in some kind of trouble,” Kingsley carried on. “Janne then told me that she’d reconnected with Dagmar over the summer, when she was on holiday in Bergen. Draco was with her.”

Harry’s eyebrows shot up. “When was this?”

“Mid-July,” Kingsley replied. “Janne looked back in her planner for me. She had Dagmar and Draco over for dinner on the eighteenth. Dagmar originally wrote her on the thirteenth to say that she was visiting for the week. . .with her betrothed.”

“Betrothed?” Hermione repeated. “Like an arranged marriage?”

Ron looked at Crabbe. “You said Malfoy and Parkinson were arranged.”

“They were.” Crabbe shrugged.

“Change of mind, I guess,” Harry said. “Wonder why. I guess we know now why Malfoy and Ramstad shacked up so quickly when they hardly looked at each other before that.”

“Janne thought the idea of Dagmar being betrothed to someone was strange as well,” Kingsley told them. “It’s not something practiced in Norway. Before Janne had them over, based on that and because of Voldemort’s return here, she looked into Draco and what became of Dagmar’s parents. When Draco told you, Harry, that the purebloods think differently in Norway, he either understated things or Janne is just particularly ardent about it. She had half a mind not to associate with Dagmar and Draco at all based on the premise that Lucius Malfoy had even been _suspected_ of being a Death Eater fifteen years ago. However, since she knew Dagmar as a child, she wanted to give them a chance. She slipped Veritaserum into their drinks before asking them about their loyalties and beliefs. They told her essentially that they weren’t sympathetic to Voldemort’s ideals, nor were they there on his behalf. They were only visiting Bergen, and Dagmar wanted to show Draco her childhood home. They had already decided at that point they would be leaving Britain at the end of the year to get away from it all.”

“That confirms that as truth, then.” McGonagall spoke, nodding in satisfaction.

Snape’s eyes narrowed in thought. “Did Dagmar and Draco realize they’d been given Veritaserum?”

“No.”

“Then that also means they intended to tell the truth.”

“So there’s no point wondering after that anymore, then.” Hermione sighed. “They’re not Death Eaters, nor do they intend to be. I wonder what that means for their other friends.”

“I think about the same,” Goyle spoke up. “Zabini for a while I don’t think has cared about things like blood purity. Nott made a big fuss with Malfoy about Mafalda Prewett, but I don’t think he would’ve gotten over himself if he thought of Malfoy as a blood traitor. Greengrass and Bulstrode, I don’t think I’ve ever heard them talk about it, but would they hang out with the rest of them if they _did_ care?”

“Probably not,” Ron said. “If Hermione’s right that Ramstad has never cared about things like blood, then she wouldn’t have gotten in as tight with Greengrass and Bulstrode as she has lately. That was always why she only had friends outside Slytherin before this year, wasn’t it?”

“Well, that, and Pansy was always so mean to her,” Hermione added.

It wasn’t much a surprise to Harry that, if Malfoy had a genuine change of heart, the rest (or at least the majority) of Slytherin house would go with him. It could be that fewer Slytherins believed in blood purity than they let on, but were afraid to say so in case Malfoy sniffed them out. For the ones that _did_ believe blood defined the wizard above all else, the idea might not be so appealing if Malfoy of all people abandoned it. Malfoy was a prefect. He was their Quidditch Captain, and had just taken a historic victory for Slytherin house over Gryffindor. He held sway, beyond just being the loudest twerp of the bunch.

There was nothing new to Harry’s frustration as he left Dumbledore’s office later with Ron, Hermione, Crabbe, and Goyle. Every time they closed one door, they opened at least three more.

Crabbe and Goyle looked more comfortable on this side of the meeting. Their arms weren’t crossed as tightly as they all lingered outside the gargoyles hiding the office.

“So, what now?” Goyle asked.

“Just keep your ears open,” Harry said. “Er, probably best we’re not seen together, for the time being. Malfoy and Ramstad are aware I belong to a group like the Order, so they might be less natural if they suspect you’re spying.”

Crabbe nodded. “Got it.”

* * *

Dagmar wore an extra jumper as she and Draco headed for the student potions lab to make their first attempt at the Polyjuice Potion. She kept her hands tucked into the sleeves as she and Draco went over their notes one final time.

“I’m comfortable with our window on the stewed lacewing flies being between nineteen and twenty-two days,” Dagmar said. “We don’t need to narrow it any further, at this point. There’s enough here that we can pull a quarter of the cauldron each day. . .”

They’d already removed some from the cauldron they’d simmered in since mid-January. Draco was in the process of breaking them down in a mortar and pestle, his nose slightly wrinkled at the smell.

“We have enough of the other ingredients for four goes at this.” Dagmar sighed, nervous. “Are you ready for attempt number one?”

“Let’s do it,” Draco replied. “We’ve been thorough enough for all the ingredients other than the lacewing flies, I don’t see how we could’ve made an error.”

“I sure hope not. I would hate to start right fresh.”

Draco leaned over to rest his head briefly on her shoulder. “Even if we did, it’s still only February.”

“I guess.”

Dagmar’s hands trembled slightly as they started their potion off with some fluxweed and knotgrass. They watched carefully how the two ingredients interacted while Dagmar stirred.

“Stop,” Draco told her after four turns. “Look at it.”

The potion shifted itself into a mirrored image split down the middle, while at rest. When Dagmar waved her wand over it, the picture grew clearer, like two butterflied hands.

“Seems promising so far.” Dagmar exhaled heavily in attempt to make rid of her nerves. “We’ll keep an eye on it. I would imagine in about an hour or so, we could add the next slew of ingredients.”

“Let’s make sure we’re all lined up, then.”

Dagmar read off the list of ingredients for the brewing instructions they’d drafted. When Draco confirmed they were ready, Dagmar pushed the sleeves of her jumper back down and clasped her hands between her thighs in attempt to warm them.

“So. . .” Her gaze slid over to Draco. “We should discuss how we’re going to test the potion.”

“On each other, won’t we?” Draco asked. “That’s what I assumed.”

“Ja,” Dagmar agreed. “It doesn’t have any mental effects—or it shouldn’t, anyway—so we’ll still be alert enough to confirm whether it worked or not. Should only one of us take it to start, just in case?”

“I will.” Draco paused. “Never really gave it much thought I’d be a woman for a little while.”

“I’ve thought about it,” Dagmar said with a giggle. “Not so much you being a woman, but me being a man. I’m sort of looking forward to finding out how it feels to have a willy.”

Draco snorted, leaning over against her again. “Baps for me.”

“Nice thing about having your own is you don’t have to bother anyone else if you want to play with them.”

As if to contest that, Draco swivelled Dagmar on her stool so that he could cup her breasts. Dagmar didn’t mind—she hadn’t realized how cold they were until they warmed in his palms.

“Are we going to shag after the potion takes effect?” Dagmar asked.

“Hm.” Draco narrowed his eyes, lips pursed. His hands dropped back into his lap. “My first instinct is to say yes, for the novelty. More practically, though, would you feel weird shagging a woman? Shagging _yourself_ , for that matter?”

“I’m not sure,” Dagmar replied. “It might be my body, but it would still be you in it. Would it be weird for _you?_ ”

“I don’t know,” Draco said after a moment of thought. “It’s probably easier to switch into a man’s body. I’ve never had anything stuck in me like that before.”

“We could change that.” Dagmar couldn’t help but grin at how Draco’s eyes widened. “Wouldn’t you let me put my willy in your fanny?”

The two of them snickered again, Draco pulling back out of his reservedness as their foreheads came to rest together. It was something familiar to ground them at the prospect of shaking things up. Draco relaxed further, sighing, as Dagmar softly kissed him.

“If you seriously want to, I’ll think about it,” Draco said. “Nobody else could ever make me say that.”

“We’ll see what happens.” Dagmar kissed him again. “Who knows, maybe neither of us will feel right about it, and that’s okay. My feelings certainly wouldn’t be hurt if you decided against it. It’s still pretty fresh in my mind how long it took me to be ready for that. It’s intimidating when you’ve never done it before.”

“I can at least appreciate that if you were wielding a willy, you’d probably be considerate with that in mind.”

“I’ll only make you feel good, hjertet mitt.”

Draco’s cheeks darkened as they laughed. “You might almost be _too_ comfortable in a man’s body.”

“Maybe. I just like seeing you so vulnerable. It’s hot when you’ll let yourself with me.”

“Well, that I can certainly understand.”

Dagmar smiled before leaning in again. She took Draco’s lips slowly so that every little movement, however gentle, lit up the nerves. Draco’s breath stilted when she lightly nibbled his bottom lip, compelling her to pull off enough to see his expression. Sure enough, it was lax in the exact way Dagmar wanted to see. His eyes cracked, then opened completely when Dagmar got off her seat to straddle him.

“You aren’t on about doing anything _here_ , are you?” Draco asked.

“Nei.” Dagmar wrapped her arms around Draco’s shoulders. “We need to keep an eye on the clock for our potion. There’s nothing wrong with a little snogging in the meantime, is there?”

Draco’s grin said it all. It was at least a better way for Dagmar to warm up, compared to relying solely on multiple layers of clothing. It hadn’t done much when she had such little body heat to begin with.

Since they didn’t have a goal in mind other than killing time, Dagmar wasn’t inclined to move things along beyond a certain point. Her body failed to receive the memo. In a way, knowing this wouldn’t come to fruition was exhilarating. The longer Dagmar put it off, the more miserable her body grew. The ache had spread into her thighs when the time finally came to pay more attention to their potion.

Dagmar let out a long sigh. “Once the next few steps are done, I’m either going to need you to come upstairs with me, or I’ll be spending some time alone in my dorm.”

“Upstairs,” Draco said right away.

The brewing potion shifted from the heat, its chiral imagery remaining constant. Since Dagmar figured it was ready for the next step, the heated state of her body had to fall to the wayside as their concentration was required again.

It was a good thing she and Draco were forced at the moment to focus elsewhere, since footsteps trailed into the lab. Blaise ambled in with his hands in his pockets.

“All right?” he asked. “How’s that coming?”

“Good so far,” Draco answered. “Just a minute, we’re throwing in one more thing before it needs to brew on its own for a while again.”

“‘Kay.”

Blaise took a stool opposite them, his arms folded on the table as he watched them add powdered bicorn horn.

“There,” Dagmar said after she’d waved her wand over it again. “It should take about a day for that horn to break down. We’ll come back this time tomorrow to finish it up and give it a try.”

“Must feel good to be making some real progress on it,” Blaise said. “Theo and I are about ready to try making our Amortentia, but we’re in a bit of a rut on figuring out how to test it.”

“I’d volunteer,” Dagmar told him, “but. . .I guess it wouldn’t have much effect if it bent me toward Draco. You wouldn’t be able to tell if it did anything.”

“Neither of us were comfortable testing it between ourselves either.” Blaise snorted. “I mean, Theo has Daphne. He doesn’t need to do something he might regret, or what might make a fool of him. Not that I would let him. . .the last option is finding two people who aren’t involved, but how do you convince them to willingly becoming obsessed like that with someone they either don’t know or don’t like?”

“Money,” Draco answered.

The three of them laughed.

“You’re not wrong,” Blaise said. “Maybe Theo and I ought to advertise it. See if there are any bites.”

“How long do you reckon it takes to brew?” Dagmar asked as she gathered things up to return to her and Draco’s assigned cupboard. “If it’s relatively quick, you might give some kids a little pocket money before the Hogsmeade weekend on Valentine’s Day.”

“Nine days,” Blaise answered. “It’s got a short brew time, but it’s complicated. There are a lot of ingredients, and it needs constant attention. Theo and I were going to ask Snape if he could write notes for our other professors to see about dipping out during classes to tend to it.”

“If it’s for a class, I don’t see why not.” Draco paused. “McGonagall will be your hardest sell.”

Blaise nodded slowly, seemingly distracted. It tapped into Dagmar’s curiosity.

“Something else on your mind?” she asked.

“Sort of.” Smile tight, Blaise scratched at his scalp. “I wanted to talk to you guys about something.”

Dagmar resumed her seat next to Draco.

“It’s about Luca.” Blaise shifted in his seat. “We’re going to give it a go.”

“Ja?” A smile spread by its own volition over Dagmar’s face. It’d been nearly three months now since she first talked to Blaise about it, and the question had surfaced once in a while just what was going on between them. “I’m happy for you then.”

“Same. It’s about time someone made an honest man out of you,” Draco jested.

“Shut up.” Blaise chuckled anyway. “It’s time for something, at least. I told my mum over the holidays I was into blokes. She cried a little bit, feeling bad about setting me up with a woman, but came around after I explained you and I still get on really well. Luca thought _his_ mum would be on the fence, but she was happy for him when he told her this afternoon. Er. . .I guess I’ll find out if it’s weird at all, next Defence class.”

“I doubt it.” Dagmar waved the notion off. “Parasca’s too serious to let anything hamper lessons. Peeves could start a fire in the classroom, and she’d still lecture while putting it out.”

“The crappy part we’re finding with all this is that telling everyone we’re going together takes two parts. We have to come out first.” Blaise cupped his jaw, elbow on the desk. “We were planning on telling everyone else at dinner tomorrow. Not that we’re embarrassed or anything, it’s just nice to only have to inform three more people rather than all five of you. Since you two already knew. . .makes it easier.”

“Did you want us to make sure we’re there?” Draco asked. “A little moral support never hurts.”

“It definitely wouldn’t. I’m already nervous.”

“Don’t be,” Dagmar said. “It’s really not a big deal.”

“I was also thinking—this is part of the reason I wanted to talk to you separately first,” Blaise replied. “Does it ever feel to you like the longer we keep our old arrangement to ourselves, the more like we’re hiding it?”

Dagmar hummed. “Not really, I guess because whenever I talk about our relationship over the years, I always just speak of it as a friendship. Does it feel like that to you?”

“Sort of.” Blaise shrugged. “It might just be because I was really hesitant to tell Luca about it. I didn’t want him to feel jealous. He knows now, though, so it’s starting to feel weird that the rest of our friends don’t. I’m certainly not ashamed of it by any means, and it’s been long enough now it doesn’t have any bearing on where we moved on from it.”

“If you want them to know, I’m fine with it,” Dagmar replied. “It doesn’t matter to me either. The only thing I don’t want them to know is why specifically it ended. I don’t want any weird questions about my parents, since it _is_ really uncommon for these things to change so last-minute.”

“I don’t think it has to take much explanation beyond me being gay why we decided not to move forward.”

“I guess not, hey?”

With that settled, Blaise left the students’ lab. Draco walked in front of Dagmar when they headed out a bit later, but stopped with a snort when Dagmar grabbed his bum.

“Did you still want to go upstairs?” Dagmar asked.

“That’s where I was heading.”

Dagmar fell in step beside him and took his hand. “You’re okay with Blaise talking about our old arrangement, right? You were quiet in there.”

“It’s not really something I have any say over.” Draco shrugged. “Really, I’m probably lucky Blaise is considerate enough to not mention my part in it. It doesn’t paint me in the best light, and I hurt him.”

“He understands it isn’t something we completely chose,” Dagmar replied. “It’s hard to dwell when you have something exciting going on, and time has proven it didn’t really impact anything between the three of us. He and I have actually agreed that we’re closer now than we were before. He can tell me things about himself without worrying he’ll hurt me.”

“This is true.”

When Dagmar and Draco made it to the seventh floor corridor, Dagmar waited against the wall while Draco summoned the Room of Requirement. The dull ache of Dagmar’s need had resurfaced as they walked through the castle. She was already undressing inside before Draco had a chance to put his hands on her.

Perhaps following their earlier conversation regarding testing the Polyjuice Potion, Draco had something to prove. His hold on Dagmar was assertive, his mouth hungry, and his body ready. He groaned deeply into Dagmar’s neck, pushing forward when she groped him through his trousers.

Dagmar was keen for whatever Draco wanted, after all their snogging earlier with no further end. She usually liked to put up some kind of counter as a challenge, but let herself be pliant for the sake of Draco’s need to be dominant. It wasn’t as if she truly sacrificed anything for it. She was quite happy to be guided onto all fours before Draco pulled her hips back to him.

Draco started slow, but that didn’t last long. Dagmar had to drop down to her elbows so that she wouldn’t fall forward. Burying her face in the blankets helped muffle the majority of noise she made. It only got worse when she reached down between her legs. Draco had other plans. He pulled her back up against his chest, easing Dagmar into straddling his legs. With one arm around her middle, he held her in place while he thrust up into her. His free hand took over helping her along.

It was too much once they established a rhythm and Draco nibbled Dagmar’s shoulder. She came out of it weak and feeling like fire had eaten her body after being shot through the head. Even talking was too difficult to bother attempting as they recuperated.

“I’m a little drunk off that one,” she eventually managed.

“Sometimes there’s nothing better than a proper fuck.”

Dagmar chuckled.

Draco nuzzled the top of her head. “I wish I had the head about me when we were in the dungeons to pack up for the night. We could’ve stayed here.”

“I can’t anyway.” Dagmar sighed. “I promised Daphne I’d help her finish up her essay for Parasca. She still had another four inches to go after study hall.”

“That’s too bad. Tomorrow, then.”

“Shower with me first?”

Dagmar didn’t want to wander through the castle looking like she did, her hair a mess on top of trembling legs and a flushed face. Despite cleaning up, Daphne took a double-glance from her bed with a snicker when Dagmar entered the dorm.

“What’ve _you_ been up to?” she lightheartedly teased. “Or should I ask _who_.”

“Ja, ja. . .” Dagmar pulled her curtains shut so that she could change into some fresh clothes. “How’s the essay coming?”

“I’m just wrapping up my conclusion.”

“Don’t need me then, ah?”

“Probably not, but thanks for all your help earlier,” she cheerfully replied. “I doubt I’d have something to hand in tomorrow, otherwise.”

As sleepy as Dagmar was, she had her own homework she could work on. The most pressing was the four feet for Binns due Thursday that had already proven itself dreadfully dull in the first quarter Dagmar drafted. She’d already finished her Astronomy and Potions homework in procrastination.

She packed it up in her bag and headed over to the boys’ dorm. The door was open, but Theo put a finger up to his lips before Dagmar could knock. He pointed at Draco’s bed. The curtains were shut.

“Out like a light,” he shout-whispered.

“Tell him I came by?” Dagmar replied. “I’ll probably be in the library for the rest of the night.”

Dagmar brought nothing but History of Magic to the library so that she had no choice but to focus. She’d made some decent progress, adding eight inches before Draco made an appearance shortly after nine. He yawned while setting his bag down. Dagmar had to suppress the urge to reach across the table and ruffle his hair. He hadn’t bothered to do anything with it after they’d showered, and it showed.

“Good kip?” she asked.

“Yeah, but I didn’t mean to doze off.” Draco rubbed an eye with the heel of his hand. “You wore me out.”

“I could’ve slept too,” Dagmar said. “Maybe we worked out a little _too_ much.”

The smile Draco gave her wound up sticking around for the evening, reflecting the new peace that had emerged within him. His energy was perfect in easing Dagmar back into some sort of flow for the next few hours. She was quite satisfied when she packed up to have three feet done now for the essay. The last of it could be done tomorrow, and then she wouldn’t have to think about it anymore.

Draco stopped them outside the Slytherin common room. “I’m going to take my last rounds of the dungeons. See you in the morning?”

“Mhm.” Dagmar held his shoulder while leaning in to kiss him. “Sleep well.”

“You too.”

Dagmar crept into her dorm, since all was quiet. Sure enough, Daphne, Milly, and Pansy had all fallen asleep. Dagmar slipped her bag off her shoulder and headed briefly into the bathroom. She lit the torch above her bed while she changed into her pyjamas.

Listening carefully again, Dagmar bent down and reached under the bed. Her Alltid-Kaldt canister had remained down here after Heimdall progressed to eating larger meals less frequently. She opened the lid and tipped it toward the torch-light. Steam rose from the fog inside.

Dagmar had turned her Alltid-Kaldt canister back into an Alltid-Varmt one with a tap of her wand, and then dug out from her trunk the shrunken troll head in a jar Draco bought her in Bergen. While it took time, the Alltid-Varmt canister had been enough to reactivate the Shrinking Potion.

Knowing it was slowly brewing under her bed was the only thing keeping Dagmar from cursing Pansy to London and back for what she’d done to Heimdall. Pansy didn’t seem particularly remorseful about it. That only strengthened Dagmar’s conviction that she would have to take matters into her own hands.

Familiar little feet padded across the dorm’s floor. Purring sounded from the other side of the curtain before Heimdall crawled under. With a noise in his throat, he jumped up onto the bed.

“Shh,” Dagmar told him with a pet. “I’ll be right back.”

Quietly as she could, Dagmar held her curtain aside to slip past with her canister. She hesitated outside Pansy’s, listening for anything other than the deep, rhythmic breaths that denoted her sleep. Satisfied, Dagmar let herself in. Perfect—Pansy slept on her back.

Dagmar tipped her canister over Pansy’s face. The fog fell slowly, rolling like a silent wave when it broke on Pansy’s nose. Tendrils of it disappeared up Pansy’s nostrils as she inhaled. The fog rapidly settled, then dissipated. Only the smell of mildew remained.

Heimdall laid by Dagmar’s pillow with his front feet tucked underneath him. Dagmar scratched his cheek after laying down. “God natt, lille gutt.”


	23. Two Halves

Harry kept a close eye on the Defence classroom door as students gradually filed in. His gaze gravitated to the front of the room when Malfoy, Ramstad, and their friends arrived.

Professor Parasca wasted no time instructing them to pair up with their Occlumency partners. With that, Ron sighed as heavily as he had every other Defence class since the beginning of January. He drug his feet over to where Malfoy sat, while Ramstad took Ron’s seat with a flick of her long, blonde hair back over her shoulder.

Hermione had drilled Harry all weekend on his Legilimency skills. He was definitely getting better, not that Harry was letting that be seen in class. As far as Ramstad was aware, Harry had some sort of block about Occlumency, and Legilimency wasn’t going any better. What he disliked about it was Ramstad’s attitude. When Harry resisted every attempt by her to help him improve, her efforts to help took on a patronizing edge. Harry hated facing it twice a week.

“What did you want to do first?” Ramstad asked.

“Occlumency, I guess.”

Harry was at least getting better at that. He knew now what Ramstad meant during the first lesson that she ease off—he could block her attempts to penetrate his mind, and could consciously allow her in if he so pleased.

Ramstad abruptly returned to view after Sirius flashed through Harry’s mind. He didn’t really want her seeing him.

One of Ramstad’s eyebrows rose. “Sirius Black?”

“His name was cleared,” Harry said automatically. The last person he wanted to discuss Sirius with was Ramstad, especially as seeing him again so unexpectedly always came with the very wave of emotions that would upset Harry’s tentative hold on Occlumency and Legilimency.

“I know.” Ramstad offered Harry a rare smile. “I think you’re starting to get it, though. You shut me out.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

With that encouragement, it was nice for once not to feel like she pitied Harry for his lack of ability at something.

“Should we switch?” Harry suggested.

“Sure.”

Ramstad sat up straighter across from Harry and crossed her legs. She smiled again, and Harry grew nervous. This ought to be the time he gave it a shot before he felt too guilty for doing it. Ramstad, like Malfoy, was aloof beyond belief spare the small cracks where a personality actually emerged. Harry took it that if he was starting to see it, Ramstad was becoming comfortable with him to some degree.

He let all those feelings go and cleared his mind spare one name: _Voldemort._ Harry’s hand shook slightly as he raised his wand. “ _Legilimens._ ”

What looked like the upstairs of a house appeared first, skylights letting in light from a bright moon. Next came Harry himself, from when he must have only been eleven and riding the Hogwarts Express for the first time. The last was a graveyard darkened by a roaring storm—a graveyard Harry certainly knew.

The spell ended early. Ramstad reappeared like a flash rather than at the tail of a soft fade. She studied him shrewdly, her lips pressed. Any hint of her earlier smile was gone.

“I saw a house, then me.” Harry paused, debating if he should fully disclose. “Little Hangleton.”

“I don’t know what that is.”

“It’s a town,” Harry replied. “I recognized the graveyard.”

He watched Ramstad carefully. Colour blossomed in her cheeks and the only emotion Harry could associate with it was anger. He didn’t like this expression she regarded him with, as if anything light within her had vanished. Her eyes were dull like a reptile’s.

“You looked for that on purpose,” she said quietly.

“Not that specifically,” Harry clarified. “Why were you there?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“I think maybe it is.”

Ramstad’s gaze darted down to her bag.

“Look, you need to talk to me,” Harry said before she could huff off. “I get it, you don’t want to be involved. None of us do. Not even your parents—”

“Don’t you _dare_ ,” Ramstad cut him off in a harsh whisper.

“They didn’t want it.” Harry matched her lowered volume. “They’re not with him by choice. What’s he holding over them?”

Ramstad’s gaze wandered, this time over the class in general. Her eyes had widened and emotion returned to her. Harry could see that fourteen-year-old girl again standing up on the landing of her family’s manor house, powerless to stop her world crumbling around her.

“I don’t know,” she hollowly replied.

“Is there a way you could find out?”

“Nei.”

“Are you sure?” Harry pressed. “We could help them if you did.”

“I don’t know,” she repeated. “I don’t talk to them anymore.”

“Could you try?”

“You don’t think I have?”

She still wouldn’t meet his gaze. Were her back not to where Ron and Malfoy obliviously carried on, Harry figured Ramstad would be trying to catch Malfoy’s eye. He couldn’t see her sudden shift in mood. He was too busy making Ron’s Defence class as difficult as possible.

Harry decided to try a different approach. “We’re doing everything we can to get to him before things get any worse. If there’s anything you know—anything at _all_ —it might be helpful. There are Death Eaters we can’t help, but some we probably can. Some we _are_.”

“I don’t know anything.” Ramstad shook her head. “I stayed out of it.”

“If you think of anything, you can tell me. You could tell Dumbledore.”

Ramstad finally met his gaze with that, but not for long. She stooped to pick up her bag, and headed over to where Ron and Malfoy were. Malfoy watched her return, Ron turning around in his seat as she approached. His brow furrowed as Ramstad said something to him. He rose to his feet.

“What was that about?” Ron asked when he came over. “She said we were switching. Seemed spooked. Did you manage?”

“Yeah, but I didn’t get anything.” Harry sighed. He watched Malfoy’s expression grow steadily more solemn as Ramstad leaned in, talking to him. Harry looked back at Ron when Malfoy’s gaze came their way. “She basically admitted her parents are Death Eaters, which we already knew. She’s tried talking them out of it, which we could’ve already guessed. She doesn’t know anything, which is how Voldemort has always operated, even with his own followers.”

Ron’s shoulders slumped. “Did you get anything at _all?_ ”

“She’s been to the Little Hangleton graveyard, but she wouldn’t tell me why,” Harry said. “She associates me with him, but who doesn’t? There was a house.”

“The Riddle house, maybe?” Ron suggested.

“No,” Harry refuted right away, then paused. “I’m not sure, actually. I’ve seen the inside of it in dreams, but just the one room where Peter Pettigrew and Voldemort were staying.”

“Might be a place to start, considering she’s seen the graveyard too.”

Harry nodded. “Well, we’ve still got time before the end of class. Guess we might as well practice some more.”

With Ron’s agreement, they set off on it. Harry was a little distracted, wondering what he’d tell Professor Parasca if she asked why he was no longer working with Ramstad. Parasca walked past Ramstad and Malfoy first, stopping to talk to them. Whatever Ramstad had to say seemed acceptable, since Parasca just nodded and moved on.

The bell rang for mid-morning break. Harry gathered up his things and headed with Ron and Hermione for the dungeons. Just as they headed down the stairs, Harry heard his name from behind. He turned around, and his heart sunk with dread.

“Potter,” Malfoy called him again over the swarm of first-years coming back upstairs. “Come here.”

“Good luck,” Ron muttered under his breath before he and Hermione carried on.

Malfoy headed over to one of the corridor’s nooks, his arms tightly crossed. His eyes narrowed as Harry stepped in with him.

“I’m going to tell you this once,” Malfoy said, his voice trembling in hardly-contained contempt. “You’re making no allies in the way you pry and poke around. If Dagmar and I haven’t made it absolutely clear by now, we want nothing to do with you or Dumbledore or anyone else. We’ve been through enough. Leave us alone.”

“Or what?” Harry crossed his arms as well. “I was only trying to help.”

“Seriously? Another thing you’re bollocks at, it would seem.”

That actually managed to sting Harry. Maybe he didn’t much like Malfoy or Ramstad, but he’d developed some empathy for them over the past few months. Harry knew something about burdens. They hadn’t chosen to get caught up in all this anymore than Harry had.

“Can’t exactly just walk up to you and ask what I need to know, can I?” Harry steamed. “Things are moving whether you like it or not, Malfoy. I don’t need you or Ramstad to figure things out, but that doesn’t mean I want to see you get caught up in anything. Her parents already are, against their will. I thought maybe before that goes a bad way, she’d have something that would make it easier to avoid.”

“Like I already told you, we don’t know anything,” Malfoy snipped back. “You think You-Know-Who would tell us his plans? You think he would’ve let us come back to Hogwarts if we had something useful we could hand over to you or Dumbledore? Get off it, Potter. You’re just sticking your nose in because you can.”

With that, Malfoy left. Harry lingered, angry despite trying not to be. He wanted to believe that _did_ either of them know anything useful, they’d share it. The frustrating part was that judging by what Harry had seen while using Legilimency on Ramstad, she might know something useful—she just wasn’t aware.

Harry really hoped that the thing with the house went somewhere. If not, he may have wasted his last real chance to get any help at all from Ramstad and Malfoy.

He headed off to Potions before Snape deducted a hundred house points or so because he was late. He was the last one to arrive. Hardly caring about being subtle, Harry eyed Ramstad as he headed for his seat. Her expression was blank and distant as she faced the front of the classroom.

Yet again because of Ernie, Harry couldn’t tell Ron and Hermione all the details. Ron had at least passed on to Hermione the information Harry learned in Defence class. Harry filled them in on the rest when they took their lunch to a more secluded part of the castle.

“Did you mean to scare Dagmar?” Hermione asked.

“No,” Harry replied. “Why?”

“I doubt she would’ve appreciated the things you said about her parents not wanting to be there. Yeah, it’s probably a relief in ways if she didn’t already know, but that’s also terrifying. I doubt she needed the reminder that her parents might be in danger. On top of that, if she doesn’t know anything, then she’s powerless to do something about it.”

“I guess,” Harry conceded. “Maybe it doesn’t hurt her to be scared. She’s acting like her grandpa, trying to stay neutral in this whole thing, but she really _can’t_ be. How’s she going to feel if her parents go to the wayside or wind up in Azkaban? Wouldn’t she have wanted to do all that she could?”

“Maybe she is.” Hermione paused, chewing her sandwich. “There’s something else you’re not thinking about. What about the Malfoys?”

“What _about_ them?”

“Lucius is devoted,” Hermione said. “He’s not there because he’s being forced. If the Ramstads get out, who do you think they’re going to turn on first?”

Harry certainly hadn’t thought of that. He’d gone out on a whim confronting Ramstad about Little Hangleton. He could’ve left it as that he’d seen a graveyard and then take from it all he’d ended up getting anyway.

Ron furrowed his brow. “There’s this whole thing with the arranged marriages. Crabbe said Malfoy and Parkinson were put together originally. Why would they be changed? Maybe Lucius knew that Ramstad was a liability. I mean, it can’t have been a secret she wasn’t like how the other Slytherins all used to be. Maybe they knew she was friends with you, Hermione. So how long would it take before she started feeding information over to us?”

“They couldn’t have forced her to marry Malfoy. Even if they did, that wouldn’t mean Dagmar liked him enough to care that much about his family,” Hermione pointed out. “However it happened, there’s no arguing that Dagmar and Malfoy’s relationship is real. Dagmar has too strong a bollocks detector, and Malfoy is too impulsive to keep up a charade for this long. I believe both of them have been genuine in how they act _and_ what they say.”

“Okay, well, in that case, it’s too bad for the Ramstads,” Ron said. “If Ramstad didn’t like Malfoy, she might not have such a hangup about helping her parents get out. If the Malfoys are going to be Ramstad’s in-laws someday, she’ll want to protect them too. I think we can all agree that’s pretty much impossible. There’s no saving Lucius.”

“No, he’s probably beyond that.” Hermione pressed her lips together. “I wonder about Mrs. Malfoy.”

“What about her?” Ron asked.

“She might be sympathetic with You-Know-Who about blood purity, but she’s not a Death Eater,” Hermione replied. “She wouldn’t have ever done what Lucius has. She’s never hurt anyone, far as we know. Considering what Malfoy’s relationship with Lucius is like right now, Malfoy might accept whatever comes of his father. His mother, though. . .he loves her. You see the look on his face as he reads the notes attached to the sweet packages she sends, even though Snape says they’re estranged.”

“Malfoy would never agree with you about Lucius,” Ron said. “Piece of rubbish or not, his dad is still his dad.”

Hermione’s fist dug into her cheek, her elbow into her knee. “Anything to add, Harry?”

“Not really.” Harry shook his head. “There’s so much up in the air that I don’t even know if it’s really worth debating at this point. I want to tell Dumbledore about Ramstad going to Little Hangleton. I’d like to find out if she has something to do with the Riddle family, or if that’s even the house I saw.”

“Fair enough,” Hermione sighed. “I wish Dagmar would talk to me. So much of this could so easily be cleared up.”

“Honestly, I doubt it could be,” Harry replied. “I don’t think she knows a whole lot more than we do. She might even know less, at this point.”

* * *

Dagmar had no real memory of lunch break, nor of History of Magic after that. She hadn’t a clue what Professor Binns had lectured about, despite taking down two feet worth of notes. In preparation during study hall to keep on with the essay due Thursday, Dagmar tried to reread what she had so far. She could hardly get through half a sentence before her eyes slid out of focus.

She didn’t even know where to begin in breaking down everything Potter dropped on her in Defence class. Why had that house from Dagmar’s nightmares shown up again? It’d been so long now since she saw it that she had pretty much forgotten about it. Perhaps it showed up because it had stopped appearing to her after Voldemort saw it. In that way, Dagmar associated the house to have something to do with him.

Dagmar had been taken aback that Potter recognized the graveyard. Then again, as Dagmar thought about it, hadn’t Potter mentioned a graveyard in that interview he did for the Quibbler back in fifth year? Dagmar had only read it once in panic to make sure that her parents hadn’t been mentioned, but they hadn’t joined yet at that point. It had still terrified Dagmar that, if the local wizarding community started to accept Voldemort’s return as reality, it was one step closer to when her parents would suffer the consequences of their new loyalty.

She couldn’t tell what parts of everything Potter said were true and what weren’t. One thing was certain: if Potter didn’t actually already know her parents were Death Eaters, then Dagmar had stupidly told him. He got her with them being trapped against their will. Part of Dagmar always suspected it because it had been so at-odds with the mum and dad she grew up with. She still hadn’t ruled out the Imperius Curse, despite that their behaviour didn’t entirely fit within its scope. There was something insidious afoot. Yet again, thanks to Potter, Dagmar was completely uncomfortable with the fact that she had no idea what that might be.

Draco was in the library when Dagmar left study hall at five. He didn’t appear to have gotten any further on the Herbology essay than when he had last left off on it.

Dagmar squeezed his shoulder affectionately. “Are you hungry?”

He shrugged. “I guess I could eat.”

Dagmar knew what he meant. She was having a hard time finding an appetite too, between all the knots in her stomach. They headed straight for the Great Hall. Halfway down the Slytherin table to their usual spot, Dagmar cursed quietly under her breath and leaned closer to Draco. “I forgot all about Blaise and Luca.”

“Me too,” Draco admitted.

Blaise looked nervous again. His face was long as he poked at his dinner. Luca was the complete opposite, bubbly and smiling. Dagmar couldn’t help but catch just a smidgeon of that whenever Luca’s gaze travelled in Blaise’s direction. His eyelashes batted up and down with the frequency of it. Dagmar caught Blaise’s eye from across the way. He had to cover his mouth, pretending to rub it to hide a shy smile.

A lull in the conversation was hard to find. Theo wanted to complain at-length about Potions class that day, which, to be fair, had not been easy. Eventually, he put enough food in his mouth to glue his jaws shut and give someone else a chance to speak.

“Hey, just wanted to let you guys know something,” Blaise spoke up in a forced-casual tone. “Luca and I are going together.”

Milly’s brow furrowed slightly, and she paused with a piece of dill carrot halfway to her mouth. Dagmar could practically hear the gears working in Theo’s head.

“Going where?” he asked.

Draco scoffed. “You’re a prat.”

“I— _ohhhh!_ ” Theo exclaimed, making everyone laugh. “All right, then. Really? Okay.”

“That’s sweet!” Daphne said. “I think you two’ll be cute together.”

“Daphne, _please_ , no man wants to be told he’s cute,” Theo told her.

“ _You_ like it,” she shot back. 

“. . .But could you not tell our friends?”

Dagmar laughed along with everyone else. Blaise certainly seemed relieved for the news to have gone over so well. Luca glowed as he sidled up closer to Blaise, their sides pressing.

“Seriously, though.” Theo pointed his fork at Blaise and Luca. “Whatever makes you happy. Anyone gives you a hard time, send them our way. Slytherin house probably won’t care, but Muggle-borns might be dicey. Depends what kind of twats they grew up with, for parents.”

“It’d be pretty stupid for them to say anything at all,” Milly replied. “I’d feel like a git myself if I got in trouble for it and then had to go explain to Dumbledore what’s wrong with being gay.”

They all snickered except Luca, who just looked confused. The potatoes on Draco’s fork fell back onto his plate when Theo nudged him. “What’re your thoughts, then? Nothing to say?”

Draco shrugged. “I already knew.”

“Why did he get to know before me?” Theo asked.

“Because _I_ knew,” Dagmar said with a chuckle.

Theo leaned forward to see past Draco. “How did _you_ know?”

“Blaise told me,” Dagmar replied. “We were betrothed until this summer.”

Theo’s head tilted further down. “And how long were you two going to hold onto _that_ for?”

“We weren’t, really.” Blaise shrugged, catching Dagmar’s eye. “It just never came up.”

“Not until you told _me_ about it, anyway,” Luca said. “I still don’t really get it, no offence, the whole arranged marriage thing. Obviously it can work—” he gestured at Theo and Daphne, “—but what happens when it doesn’t?”

“It can go ugly, don’t let anyone fool you otherwise,” Draco told him. “I ended my arrangement this summer too. It took months to be free.”

Dagmar’s gaze traveled across the hall to where Pansy sat with Ginny and her friends at the Gryffindor table. She hadn’t looked completely herself today. She was a little pale, sickly, and she’d been rubbing at her temples a lot. Dagmar felt a lick of satisfaction from it.

“Doesn’t have to, though.” Dagmar shrugged. “Blaise and I were amicable about it. We could’ve made it work without feelings because we just like each other. We can pretty much have the exact same relationship with or without an arranged marriage putting us together, so what’s the point? We might as well pursue our own things.”

“Yeah, I mean. . .” Blaise glanced at Luca with an apologetic smile. “In hindsight, it could have made things more complicated than they needed to be. Maybe Dagmar and I were okay with having other partners, but those partners maybe wouldn’t care for the setup.”

“Probably wouldn’t help I wound up with your best mate,” Dagmar added.

“Okay, that I _do_ take offence to,” Theo told her around Draco. “Draco, his best mate? You really think so?”

Just like Dagmar had come to dinner unsure how she could focus on anything but her earlier conversation with Potter, she parted with her friends unable to slip back into that horrible state of worry. It made her feel better about discussing it with Draco. She wanted to, now. He always had a way of easing her stress about these sorts of things. His hand resting on her knee through dinner had helped.

Draco took her hand as they headed down to the student lab. The first iteration of their Polyjuice Potion would be ripe to test soon. It wasn’t quite yet there when they arrived.

“So what all did Potter say to you?” Draco asked as they watched the remaining flakes of bicorn horn float about the simmering cauldron. “When I told him to sod off, he said something to me about your parents being with You-Know-Who against their will.”

“He told me that too.” Dagmar hadn’t been in a well enough state at the end of Defence class to tell him that yet. “I’m trying hard not to let what I want to be true influence what seems real. It makes sense to me, though. I never understood what my parents were doing when they joined Voldemort.”

“Wish I could say the same about my father.”

“Ja. . .” Nerves fluttered back to life in Dagmar’s stomach. “Potter kept asking me if I knew anything that would help them get my parents out. I don’t, but I’m not even sure that if I did, I should tell him or Dumbledore anything. I’m worried it might affect _your_ parents somehow. They’re pretty much my parents too since we’ll be married one day, even if we haven’t really been all that close to them since summer.”

“I couldn’t blame you if that happened,” Draco said. “I’ve always thought that my father made his own bed. I just can’t bring myself to carry that burden if I want any chance of not being a nervous wreck.”

“What about your mum?”

Draco made a noise in his throat that was a lot less certain. He wouldn’t look at Dagmar until she ran a hand over his forearm.

“I won’t do anything that puts her at risk,” she reassured him. “I think for the sake of my own mental well-being, I’m going to have to agree with you about not carrying my parents’ burdens for them. Potter made it sound like things are already happening regardless of us. I’d rather stay out of it.”

“He told me he didn’t need either of us,” Draco replied. “If he wasn’t bluffing about your parents, then that’s probably true. I’m not even sure if he wanted us for information. He told me he just didn’t want to see us get caught up in anything.”

“Then why drag us into it?” Dagmar posed. “We’re doing our best to stay out of everything, and so far that’s working. How would feeding information to Potter or Dumbledore help us at all? We already denounced him. I literally attacked him. We’re lucky after that he doesn’t seem bothered with us. Maybe he is, but there’s nothing he can do while we’re at Hogwarts. If we still have a chance at this point to get away from it all, I’m not pushing my luck.”

“Me neither. Potter needs to fight his own fight. He’s got Dumbledore, so he’ll do just fine.”

“I had a feeling Potter might try something with Legilimency.” Dagmar shook her head with a scoff. “I didn’t think it would be that blatant. I blocked certain things that might be damning or taken out of context, but he still managed to get around them. I guess he was faking that he wasn’t getting a grasp on it. He doesn’t ever question why I wouldn’t trust someone like that?”

“He said something to me about how he ‘can’t just walk up to us and start asking questions’,” Draco imitated him in a snide tone. “I’d rather he did. Maybe I’d just tell him to sod off again, but at least then he’s being transparent.”

“On the plus side, he seems to be over the idea we might be Death Eaters.” Dagmar rolled her eyes.

“Give him time. He might astound us yet and come back around to it.”

Dagmar snorted, ending with her head on Draco’s shoulder. “I won’t be shocked. Oh well. Are you ready to give this a shot then? It looks ready.”

She gestured at the cauldron. The flakes of horn had dissolved, leaving the rest of the potion a thin, murky brown mess.

Draco wrinkled his nose. “It certainly doesn’t look appetizing.”

“I’ll remind you that you volunteered.”

“Yeah. . .” Draco looked at her. “I’ll hold to that, but I don’t think this is going to be very pleasant. Do you have anything to chase it?”

“Nei, I didn’t think about it.” Dagmar kissed his cheek. “We’ll bring some pumpkin juice with us from dinner tomorrow, if this one doesn’t work. We can alternate too.”

“Okay.” Draco ladled out some of the potion into a glass, nose still wrinkled.

“Would you prefer a hair or a fingernail?” Dagmar jested. “Or I can just spit directly into it.”

“Gross.” Draco laughed. “Give me a hair.”

Dagmar tried to find a short one closer to her face. It laid on top of the potion before disappearing as it broke down. Nothing happened.

“Hm.” Draco tried swirling it. “We expected something would change, right? I should be drinking basically an essence of you.”

“Maybe you are.” Dagmar nudged him. “Maybe I’m just rancid mud on the inside.”

“Here goes nothing, I guess.” Draco sighed. “You have antidote handy, just in case?”

“Yep.”

Draco held his nose and lifted the glass to his lips. He pulled a face afterward, head bowed in concentration not to let it come back up. Dagmar had to press her lips together to avoid making a peep at his expression.

“That’s awful,” he said. A belch out of nowhere made Dagmar burst into laughter. “Bloody hell, excuse me.”

“Should something have happened by now?” Dagmar asked. Her gaze softened as she studied Draco. “Your eyes changed colour.”

“Oh really?” Draco headed over to a glass-doored cabinet to look at his reflection. “How about that? We created the most laborious and disgusting way to accomplish something we could’ve just done in Transfiguration class.”

Dagmar laughed again. “Maybe we’ll have better luck tomorrow. The plus side is, you’re very handsome with blue eyes.”


	24. Three Stops

The next Hogsmeade weekend happened to land right on Valentine’s Day. It didn’t mean anything for Harry, so he wasn’t too upset about missing heading into the village other than not being able to stock up on his sweets supply.

He saw Ron and Hermione to the Entrance Hall, where he handed a few galleons over to Ron.

“Don’t worry mate, we’ll set you up nicely with this,” Ron said with a grin. “I’ll set a little aside for Zonko’s too.”

“Thanks, I’m nearly out of stink pellets.”

He and Ron laughed, while Hermione shook her head with a roll of the eyes. Her gaze headed in direction of the nearest dungeon exit at the sound of familiar laughter, Harry’s following. Malfoy had appeared along with his friends.

“Huh,” Ron commented on the sight of Zabini and Luca holding hands. “I guess that’s true, then.”

The size of their grins were only matched by the rest of their company. Even Bulstrode, the odd woman out amongst the other three couples, looked eager to get out of the castle for a while.

Harry just shrugged. “I’ll let you know what happens with Dumbledore, anyway.”

“Right.” Hermione nodded. “See you later!”

Harry headed for the staircase, passing Malfoy’s gang of Slytherins along the way. They were all so preoccupied with each other that they didn’t notice him. Luca was the closest of them all, who Harry took a long look at.

Luca had initially arrived at Hogwarts as a strong contender for the centre of Harry’s radar. As time wore on, nothing about him seemed odd other than his likeness to Tom Riddle and chosen affiliation with Malfoy’s gang. Considering Luca had no context other than hearsay to know what that gang’s reputation had been prior to September, Harry couldn’t fault him that.

As time wore on, Harry looked at Luca more as his own person. Harry revisited that with the prospect of going to the Riddle house today. Luca’s appearance could very well be a coincidence, but Harry was keeping his mind open in case something at the Riddle house subverted that.

“Stringmints,” Harry spoke the password at the entrance to Dumbledore’s office. The gargoyles jumped aside for him. A moment later, he was being invited inside at the top of the staircase.

“Good, you received my note about dressing warmly,” Dumbledore greeted Harry with. “I have another stop I’d like to make after we leave Little Hangleton.”

“Okay.”

If Harry’s eagerness wasn’t already as high as it could go, it would’ve grown with that. They headed through the fireplace. Harry wasn’t sure where they wound up on the other end—some dingy little pub—but it didn’t matter. Dumbledore held out his forearm to Harry, and soon they were apparating. They stood outside a dilapidated gate at the bottom of a snow-laden driveway, leading up to an equally unkempt house.

Dumbledore led the way, clearing them a path while Harry disappeared it behind them. The front steps barely looked safe enough to walk on. Dumbledore tested them regardless. The porch creaked threateningly underneath both of them.

 _Alohomora_ let them easily in. The smell of dust hit Harry right away regardless of how cold the house was. Somehow it was even colder than outside. His breath hung in the air in front of him. Shutting the door plunged them into relative darkness.

“Up here,” Dumbledore said with a gesture at the grand staircase.

Harry’s heart rate picked up in anticipation that they’d been put on the right track with that house in Ramstad’s mind. He could already tell, though, that the architecture was wrong. That house had been older and darker. Sure enough, there was no angle he could look from in the Riddle house upstairs that matched his Legilimency vision.

“There were skylights,” Harry recalled, of which the Riddle house had none. “When I stood by the staircase heading down—” Harry gestured to the right, “—there were doors along the left-hand side. Three of them, and then one at the other end behind the railing.”

“Hm,” Dumbledore replied. “That’s unfortunate.”

Harry couldn’t agree more. He’d started to wonder if there was a stronger connection between Voldemort and Ramstad than the Order was currently able to explicitly see. Harry hadn’t told anyone his sneaking suspicion because of how far-fetched it was. Hildegard and Dagmar Ramstad hadn’t appeared anywhere until 1985, and even if Dagmar’s exact birthdate was up for question, she was more than likely a 1980 baby like Harry. Back then, although Tom Riddle’s prime obsessions were supremacy and the dark arts, was it completely out there that he might have once been human enough to produce a child?

Ramstad didn’t look anything like him, though. She looked like her mum, and Erik Ramstad too had blond hair and blue eyes. There wasn’t much of a variety of physical traits between them as a familial unit. Yet—Harry kept the idea tucked deep in the back of his mind for when evidence might one day come to light that supported it. He wanted to be taken seriously by the Order, and especially by Kingsley as an Auror. Harry admitted fully he couldn’t come up with a reason why Voldemort would want a child. It did nothing to further his plans for domination. Sure, children were a means to pass on genes, essentially making yourself immortal in a way, but not in the way that Voldemort sought.

Harry gravitated away from Dumbledore as they explored the upstairs. There was one part of the house Harry certainly recognized. He’d seen it through Nagini as she slithered her way to where Voldemort had regained his strength before getting his new body. Harry took a wide berth around the chair in front of the fireplace, opting instead to look out the window. He could see the graveyard from here.

He still couldn’t think of a reason why Ramstad would ever be there. She’d been more open about things once they moved on to her parents. What had happened in the graveyard that was worse to admit, or harder to discuss?

A light knock on the door announced Dumbledore’s arrival. He folded his hands in front of him as he joined Harry at the window.

“I think Ramstad met Voldemort,” Harry told him. “I don’t think she joined him—we’ve established that—but maybe there was something else.”

“Perhaps,” Dumbledore sighed through his nose. “I don’t think there’s anything else to see here, if this isn’t the place you saw in Dagmar’s mind.”

“Yeah.”

It pained Harry to admit, for nobody was able to say where else it might be. Snape had put forth that the mystery house might be the same one Ramstad saw in her recurring nightmares. Harry wanted it to be the Riddle house, for it would at least make some kind of circular sense.

Dumbledore held out his forearm. “We should carry on, then. We have a far journey north.”

Harry prepared for a long ride through the tight-tube sensation. It ended much sooner than he expected. He’d arrived in another pub, or at least that was what it looked like through the doorway leading out from the backroom he stood in. There were several fireplaces here, some labelled with city names Harry didn’t recognize, and a rather large barrel filled nearly to the brim with floo powder.

Dumbledore led Harry into the foyer. There was a fountain in the centre of it that had what looked like a little island. A full restaurant bustled with a loud din to the left. All the doors overlooking the lobby above suggested an inn rather than pub.

A witch perhaps in her early forties greeted both of them with a smile from behind the front counter. She had brown curly hair, streaked grey. “Hallo, og velkommen til Bergen.”

She spoke in the same lyrical way Ramstad did her native tongue. Harry’s sense of place jarred with it, because he hadn’t expected at all to leave Britain. He listened quietly as Dumbledore replied to her in Norwegian as well, perking when he recognized a name: Helga Westergaard.

“We need to go by floo further north to Tromsø. From there we’ll be able to reach the wizarding village Trollby, where Kapsferd is located,” Dumbledore told Harry as they headed back toward the travel room. “Rektor Westergaard is awaiting us.”

“Not Helga?”

“Rektor is her title. It’s Norwegian for Headmaster or Headmistress.”

“Ohh. Is that how I should address her, then?”

“If you should speak.” Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled with a new smile. “She was unable to send the documents I last requested her, but as a work-around, she saw no problem in inviting me to visit. I had to be quite vague in our correspondence just in case it was intercepted. She’s willing to hear me out, and then oblige my requests if all’s to her satisfaction.”

“How come I’m coming?”

“No sense making several trips out of the castle when one will suffice.” Dumbledore lit the fireplace with a wave of his wand. “Would you rather go back to Hogwarts?”

Harry smiled. “No.”

“I didn’t think so.”

Dumbledore went first, requesting the Grand Floo Junction in Tromsø. Harry followed, slightly concerned he’d said the city name wrong until he saw Dumbledore. They hopped right back into the fireplace, jumping this time to Trollby. Harry stepped out into a stone building. A din of noise came from the other side of a wall.

“Ah, Kapsferd must have village visits as well,” Dumbledore commented. “Helga asked that I send an owl ahead with the proprietor here so that she could know to expect us.”

They left the back of the establishment. Sure enough, the little pub was crammed full with what Harry guessed were sixteen and seventeen year olds. He could see that Ramstad’s affinity toward putting her hair into plaits was a cultural norm amongst Scandinavians their age. Even most of the boys had long hair worn somewhat the same way. Some had beards already.

The man at the bar nodded at Dumbledore before frowning at Harry. “ID, gutt?”

“Er—”

Dumbledore spoke again in Norwegian. The barman’s brow relaxed with understanding. He headed off to the back, and Dumbledore nudged Harry along toward the door.

It was snowing outside. Even through all the flakes and the clouds they fell from, the sun was noticeably lower in the sky than back at Hogwarts. The pub had been so lively and bright. The village tried to be. All its buildings were painted bright shades of red, blue, white and yellow. Even the castle beyond the end of the main street—Harry had to assume it was Kapsferd—was a pale burgundy with moss green turrets. It looked to Harry like everyone was trying to make up for the dreary world they currently lived in.

“It’s so dark,” Harry commented.

“We’re far enough north now that for a few months, the sun doesn’t rise at all,” Dumbledore replied. “This likely seems quite nice to them right now.”

Harry shivered at the very thought. The shortest days of the year at Hogwarts went by quickly enough, with the sun coming up around breakfast time and setting before dinner.

The castle at least was bright and inviting, even from outside. Whereas at Hogwarts it seemed like the dark stone walls absorbed most light, off-white ones here reflected it. Harry couldn’t even see how dark it was outside once he stepped into the Entrance Hall. The large windows had the same charm on them as the Great Hall’s ceiling at Hogwarts, or at least a similar one. Rather than snow, a bright blue sky was visible.

A thin, older woman stood at its centre beneath a massive, glittering chandelier. She wore a dress that looked vaguely religious to Harry. The top comprised of a red vest and white, puffy sleeves. The black skirt ended just above her ankles, and was covered by a white apron. She wore a scarf around her white hair.

“Ah, Dumbledore,” she warmly greeted him. When she smiled, her face wrinkled in a way that made it look like she had just finished laughing. “Welcome! Who’s your guest? Kasper mentioned in his owl you had one.”

“What a pleasure to finally meet.” Dumbledore shook her hand. “This is one of my students, Harry Potter.”

Rektor Westergaard lit up. “Of course, I know of you. Charmed.”

Harry took her hand next. “Nice to meet you too.”

Her pale blue eyes glinted as she smiled. “Come, to my office. Shall I request some coffee from the kitchens? Or would you prefer tea? We might have some Earl Grey hidden somewhere.”

“Tea would be lovely,” Dumbledore replied.

They headed down the long, wide corridor. Amongst other murmurings of the school, the clatter of dishes and din of foreign banter punctuated by laughs could be heard. Harry waited with Dumbledore while Rektor Westergaard poked her head into the kitchens with a cheery ‘hallo!’ All the kitchen workers—human, not house elves, Harry noted—fell silent to hear her request. They all carried on working when she left them.

Rektor Westergaard invited them into her office suite before closing the anteroom door. Through one door Harry could see a desk. There was a second, closed door off the side wall.

“This is much better to speak in person,” she said. “Please, take a seat. I’m very eager to hear what interest you have in students that left Kapsferd twenty years ago.”

Harry sat down on the same couch as Dumbledore.

“You’ve of course heard of Voldemort, yes?” Dumbledore asked.

The smile on Rektor Westergaard’s face flickered before disappearing. Rather than scared, like Harry might expect to see anywhere in Britain, she merely looked disapproving in a way Professor McGonagall would respect.

“Ja, I have,” she confirmed. “Still around, is he?”

“Unfortunately.” Dumbledore folded his hands in his lap. “Back in the seventies, when all this began, I founded an organization dedicated to opposing him and his followers. We are active again, as he has returned. While investigating his current plans, we came across the names of the students I’d inquired you about. I would appreciate the opportunity to look further into this mystery regarding Hildegard Ramstad.”

“May I ask why?” Rektor Westergaard replied, crossing her legs. “Your mention of Voldemort isn’t inspiring. I would hope they knew better than to get involved with him.”

“I wish I was the bearer of better news. Erik and Hildegard have become Death Eaters, although we are unsure how exactly Magnus is involved. He seems to have crossed Voldemort in some way before going into hiding.

“Now, to Erik and Hildegard’s credit—” Dumbledore said, since Rektor Westergaard looked like something rotten had been placed under her nose, “—evidence is strong that they are not serving Voldemort by their own volition. We believe that something to do with Magnus has bound them to him. There is some form of unfinished business. My organization would like to approach them and offer safety in exchange for information, but we need to narrow down the holes in our knowledge before this is feasible.

“When that comes to Hildegard, we can’t find her prior to 1985. We believe she may have changed her name sometime between then and when she left Kapsferd,” Dumbledore concluded.

“I see.” Rektor Westergaard nodded thoughtfully. “If it is to help some of my old students, I would be more than happy to oblige. In anticipation for this, I pulled all the graduation photos from 1970 to 1980. If you would give me a moment. . .”

Rektor Westergaard stood, and headed for the closed door leading off from the room. She returned with a large stack of glossy sheets.

“I took the liberty of sorting out the male graduates, spare Erik and Magnus.” Rektor Westergaard set the pile down on the table in front of where Harry and Dumbledore sat. “Feel free to go through and see if you recognize anyone as Hildegard.”

Dumbledore split the stack, although Harry was more keen to pick up the two pictures that Rektor Westergaard had separated. Erik had less facial hair back then, and he looked so young. This was definitely a man that had the rest of his life to look forward to. What a shame.

Magnus too. He had dark, short hair and a clean face. When he smiled up at Harry, his eyes crinkled in a very kind way. Neither of them looked like anyone that Harry should’ve ever had to think about in regards to this.

“You had asked if they had anything to do with each other,” Rektor Westergaard said as she resumed her previous seat. “I looked into it. As far as I can tell, they didn’t have any common social circles. Magnus is three years older than Erik, which is a lot for teenagers. Their interests didn’t really intersect. Magnus played Quidditch, Erik was in the chess and book clubs.

“I looked into whatever became of Magnus after he finished his education. There’s nothing to be found after 1983. I asked his sister, his only living relative, but she never hears from him. They were never close to begin with, being ten years apart in age. She’d received a letter stating he wanted to travel, but he never said where he was going.”

Dumbledore hummed thoughtfully, and Rektor Westergaard looked equally disappointed she couldn’t give anything there. She offered to help them look through the pictures and weed out any of the women that had anything other than blonde hair and blue eyes.

Since Hildegard would’ve probably looked then like Ramstad did now, she should’ve been easy to spot. However, after sifting through them all—and then again, just in case—Harry felt disheartened.

“That’s so strange,” Rektor Westergaard stated in a dreamy tone. “You’re sure she was Scandinavian?”

“I don’t know what else she’d be,” Harry replied. “Her daughter is my age, and Norwegian is her first language. She moved to Britain from Bergen. I guess that doesn’t mean anything if she could’ve just moved to Norway when she was five. . .”

Kapsferd was another dead-end, Harry figured. Nothing at the Riddle house, nothing here. . .what was left?

Rektor Westergaard saw them back to the main entrance. Students were starting to file back from Trollby. They stared at Harry and Dumbledore, but Harry liked to think it was just because they were strangers, and not because everyone knew who they were.

Harry shoved his hands into his pockets. The sun was already setting. “So what now?”

“We can confirm Hildegard didn’t attend Kapsferd,” Dumbledore replied. “My next best guess would be Durmstrang.”

“Will we go there too?”

“Perhaps.” Dumbledore looked at him. “If I receive an invitation like this one, I’ll extend it to you.”

* * *

With Valentine’s Day past, the Slytherin Quidditch team added an extra practice per week in anticipation of facing Ravenclaw on the twenty-eighth. The temperature stayed above freezing now more than it dropped below, and Dagmar couldn’t be happier for it.

Dagmar headed to her dorm after seeing Draco to practice the next Sunday and stopped inside the door. The dorm was quiet and dark. Pansy’s curtain was the only one shut. Dagmar listened as she gathered up her Astronomy homework. It didn’t sound like Pansy was asleep.

“All right?” she tried.

Pansy rustled in her bed and sighed. “No. . .I’ve had this horrible headache for the past few weeks. I tried everything Madam Pomfrey offered, but nothing helps.”

It was a shame that Pansy wouldn’t be able to associate her current state with her bad behaviour. She might have learned a lesson from it.

Rather than go to the library, Dagmar headed for the students’ lab instead. Her and Draco’s initial attempt at the Polyjuice Potion had been a failure, but they had some Antidote to Common Poisons sitting in their private cupboard. They’d never ended up needed it. Dagmar slipped a vial of it into her pocket and headed for the Great Hall. The end of dinner was still going on, enough so that Dagmar could filch a tankard of pumpkin juice. She emptied the vial into the juice away from the view of any portraits or other students.

“Pansy?” she addressed her when she returned to the dorm.

“Mm?”

“I brought something that might help.” Dagmar paused. “My mum used to get really bad headaches when I was a kid. I learned how to brew this for her so that she didn’t have to when she felt really sick.”

Pansy’s curtain opened. She still laid in bed, eyes closed and face beyond pale. She looked like she hadn’t seen the sun in about a year. With a small pang of regret, Dagmar realized she might have let this go on a little bit too long. She couldn’t imagine it would feel good at all for fermented Shrinking Potion to slowly reduce the size of her skull.

“What’s in it?” Pansy asked.

“Mistletoe and unicorn horn, basically,” Dagmar said. “It’s a little bitter on its own, so I mixed it into some pumpkin juice.”

Pansy lurched as she sat up and looked for a few seconds like she might toss. She managed to gather herself and reached for the drink. “I’ll try anything at this point.”

Dagmar took a seat on her own bed. Pansy set the tankard on her bedside table when she was done and laid back down. “Any idea how long it takes to kick in?”

“Depends,” Dagmar replied. “Even if your headache doesn’t go right away, it should at least take the edge off.”

“Thanks.”

Dagmar’s gaze darted a little with discomfort when Pansy sniffled. Pansy’s eyes shone in the dim light provided by one torch next to the door. She wiped them.

“I have no idea why you’d want to help me,” Pansy said. “I know I don’t deserve it.”

Dagmar just shrugged, not that Pansy was looking at her to see that. If Dagmar had let the potion run its course, the headache would’ve just tapered off. 

“I don’t think my headache has anything to do with an actual illness.” Pansy sniffled. “I think they’re what I got for cocking up really badly. I have to clear my conscience. It was me that shut your cat in that cabinet.

“I didn’t realize he was stuck in there the whole time.” Pansy’s breath caught and she covered her eyes. “I shut him in there, and it hit me how I’ve basically lost my mind and it’s to the point I’m punishing a _cat_ , a creature that had nothing to do with anything between you and me. I went back, and he was gone. I thought someone else let him out. I’m so sorry.”

Dagmar studied her. Maybe she actually was sorry. Pansy couldn’t even bring herself to look at Dagmar from the weight of her shame. Regardless, Dagmar was getting mad all over again about it.

“He survived, but he’s different,” Dagmar quietly said. “He’s more leery of people. He gets scared. I should poke _your_ eye so you can know how it feels to be permanently damaged from something.”

“I know.” Pansy’s face shone. “I haven’t been sleeping. I can hardly eat. I took it too far, and that’s something I’m going to have to learn to live with.”

“Ja, poor you,” Dagmar replied. “You’ll get over it. You don’t have enough of a soul for this to bother you for long.”

Dagmar regretted giving Pansy the antidote early. Once her headache cleared up now, Pansy would attribute it to admitting what she had done. If this no longer physically bothered her, then why should she let it at all?

As if by their own accord, Dagmar’s feet carried her back over to Pansy’s bedside. Pansy averted her gaze again when Dagmar stood over her. She brought it back, confused, when Dagmar splayed a hand over Pansy’s chest. Dagmar couldn’t see the electricity building between them, but she could feel it. She pushed it all into Pansy. Pansy’s eyes widened and one of her arms twitched before her entire body jolted straight.

“I ought to stop your heart,” Dagmar said under her breath. “You’re nothing but a waste of space. You’ve only ever hurt everyone around you and drug them down to your level. You’re like a black hole. The world would be better off without you.”

Tears leaked from Pansy’s eyes, but Dagmar didn’t even know if Pansy had control over that right now. Her mouth was open like a fish out of water, since her diaphragm had seized like every other muscle. Her lips started to turn blue.

Dagmar pulled back on the energy she pushed into Pansy. Pansy’s lips twitched first, and then she drew a slow, difficult breath. Eyes wide, Pansy grasped Dagmar’s forearm. She trembled when Dagmar had reached enough of a stasis between them to remove her touch completely. Pansy gasped for air, still weak, and tried to push herself away from Dagmar. She couldn’t go much further than the edge of her bed.

“You’re not worth the risk,” Dagmar told her. “If I were you, though, I wouldn’t let there be a second time this happens.”

Sweat seeped from each of Pansy’s pores. Dagmar took the tankard from Pansy’s bedside, picked up her bag, and left the dorm. She set the tankard down in the common room and vanished the dregs of its contents with a quick wave of her wand.

A strange calm came over Dagmar as she set up with her things in the library. In the back of her mind, she was vaguely aware she could’ve just killed one of her peers. She couldn’t make it bother her. If Heimdall had ended up dying because of what Pansy did, Dagmar couldn’t say with complete certainty that had she known who was responsible, she wouldn’t have followed right through.

As far as Dagmar was concerned now, so long as Pansy left her alone until their education was concluded and they never had to see each other again, things were even. Dagmar felt as if she’d made up now for everything Pansy put her through, ever since they had the displeasure of meeting. There was some peace to be felt in that, that it was over.


	25. Metamorphosis

February ended on a high note for Draco. During the week leading up to the Quidditch match against Ravenclaw, he received letters from the dragon reserves in Norway, Romania, Canada, and the United States stating that his applications for apprenticeship had made the first cut. Since Draco was still in the running for Jotunheimen, he tried not to focus on receiving no response from Guiana Dragon Reserve in South America, or Southwest Reserve in Australia. They were too distant for Draco anyway, even if they were still predominantly English-speaking pockets of the world.

As for the Quidditch match, Astoria pulled herself up from the last one, and Slytherin took their shut-out. Even with a final score of 240-0, Draco acknowledged completely that Ravenclaw put up one hell of a fight. The nine goals Blaise, Luca, and Prewett scored before Draco caught the snitch were hard-earned. Were Astoria less of a Keeper, Draco figured they may have actually had a shot at losing.

Undoubtedly, Sue Li had been paying attention when Slytherin played Gryffindor. Slytherin and Ravenclaw ended on better terms. Li found Draco after they’d left the pitch to shake his hand again and thank him for a good match, despite the lopsided final score.

Slytherin’s win basically called it for the Cup. With a combined six-hundred and twenty points between two matches, Slytherin would be nearly impossible to catch up to. Draco rode that high for the weekend before he had to get serious again on Monday for his studies. His and Dagmar’s Polyjuice Potion would be ready for another attempt on the coming weekend as their new batch of stewing lacewing flies matured. The two of them scoured any resource they could get their hands on to figure out what ingredient they were missing.

“What about boomslang skin?” Draco suggested in the library Wednesday evening.

“What about it?”

“A snake shedding its skin suggests change,” Draco replied. “I was looking at chameleons, and the boomslang is one of two snakes that eats them. Boomslangs also eat their eggs. Between the boomslang and the other snake that eats chameleons, boomslang skin is an atypical ingredient while the vine snake is impotent in potioneering.”

Dagmar hummed, a smile pulling up at one end of her mouth. “When do you think it would be added to the Polyjuice Potion?”

“Probably at the same time as the bicorn horn.” Draco slid their notes closer to himself so that he could look it all over. “I think we had it up until then. The potion looked good.”

“I agree.”

They left the library and headed down to the student lab. Their lacewing flies still stewed away at their reserved station. Dagmar hummed again as she went through the cupboards.

“There’s none here,” she said. “If it’s an ingredient in Polyjuice Potion, Snape would have to have some, right? I doubt we’d be able to buy it on our own. I also would hate to see our lacewing flies go to waste, if Snape has to order it in for us. It wouldn’t make it here in time.”

It was too late to catch Professor Snape before he’d retired for the evening. Draco went the next afternoon instead, after seeing Dagmar to History of Magic. He knocked lightly on the open office door, interrupting what looked like yet another pile of essays that needed to be graded.

“Mr. Malfoy,” Snape drawled after glancing up. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I need to ask you for something.” Draco stepped inside his office. “Dagmar and I are getting close on testing our Polyjuice Potion again. We think we were missing an ingredient before that’s not in the student cupboards. Would you happen to have some boomslang skin?”

“I do.” Snape went to his private cupboard and brought out a small jar. A bright green skin floated in a thick solution. “Lock that in your cupboard right away. It’s not something I’d like to see go missing.”

“Right.”

Draco had just opened his mouth to thank Snape, when Snape spoke again. “I heard that Potter abused his partnership with Ms. Ramstad in Defence Against the Dark Arts.”

Draco blinked. “How did you hear that?”

“From Potter.” Snape’s lip curled slightly at his mention. “There are regular meetings here regarding the Dark Lord that I attend.”

Nerves rooted Draco to the spot, despite the urge to walk away. All he could do was feign interest in how the boomslang skin shifted about in its jar.

“Potter said he saw the Little Hangleton graveyard in Ramstad’s mind,” Snape quietly carried on. “Are you aware that’s the graveyard Potter was transported to with Cedric Diggory at the end of the Triwizard Tournament?”

Draco shook his head.

“It’s also about a hundred and fifty miles north of Ramstad Manor. For the life of me, I can’t imagine what sort of business Ms. Ramstad had in the area. I personally believe she may have crossed paths with the Dark Lord. Is this true?”

“Why?” Draco’s voice wavered a little bit. “What’s it matter?”

“She is not a Death Eater, which means she walked away when most do not.” Snape leaned back against the edge of the desk, arms crossed. “It concerns me for her safety.”

“She’s fine.”

Draco’s response clearly didn’t satisfy. He didn’t like the way Snape regarded him. He held eye contact anyway, now that he was confident enough in Occlumency not to inadvertently tell Snape what he was fishing for.

Snape let out a long exhale, his shoulders dropping with it. “Surely, Draco, you must realize by now where my loyalties truly lie in this war. I’ve done all I can—all you’ll allow me to—to ensure you don’t make the same mistakes at your age as I once did. I understand if you don’t trust me, but I would hope you at least believe me when I say you do not want to know the pain of losing someone that you love.”

Fear tugged at Draco’s heart.

“I won’t do like Potter,” Snape said. “I won’t pressure you to pick a side between the Dark Lord and Dumbledore. I won’t ask specifics. Did Ms. Ramstad meet the Dark Lord?”

“It’s not mine to say.”

“Very well,” Snape resigned to accept it. “The end of the school year is fast approaching. I would hope that, should you and Ms. Ramstad require help beyond the end of June, you think to ask.”

“Okay.”

Draco couldn’t deny that, whether Snape served You-Know-Who or Dumbledore first, Snape had always done what he could for Draco. Snape had made sure nothing stood between Draco and the freedom to leave the country at the end of his education. Were it not for the twitchy little detail that Draco and Dagmar may have drawn You-Know-Who’s interest after this summer, they may have managed to get away without having to worry about help at all. Draco still wasn’t sure if Snape was to be trusted, but it was at least something to think about.

Draco was halfway upstairs when he remembered he needed to put the boomslang skin in his and Dagmar’s student lab cupboard. He remained distracted as he set up in the library to get on with the latest Charms essay. Draco didn’t manage to get very far before he packed back up in anticipation of meeting Dagmar when her class let out.

Luca stood there too. He leaned with his back against the wall outside the classroom door, his arms tightly crossed and brow furrowed as he stared intently at the floor. He looked up at the sound of footsteps and managed a tight smile when his and Draco’s gazes met.

“All right?” Draco asked. The last time he’d seen Luca so downcast hadn’t turned out so well for Draco, so he braced himself slightly.

“Okay, I guess.” Luca shrugged. “Had a bit of a row with my mum.”

“Really?” Draco leaned his shoulder on the wall beside him. “What about?”

“She wants to stay in Britain after her contract here runs out, which is good news for me, but. . .” Luca shrugged again. “She doesn’t want to teach again. She wants to jump back into the action. She applied to your Ministry as an Auror.”

Draco’s insides ran cold. After the things he’d learned from Parasca, as well as the stories Luca told him from her heyday in the field, she was far from being somebody Draco would ever want his father to run into. “Does it worry you?”

“Da.” Luca’s mouth worked. “Sure, she lived this long after being an Auror back in the Balkans. I wouldn’t know her, if she didn’t. Things are different here, though. It isn’t just random dark wizards she would be dealing with this time.”

“No.”

Draco didn’t think it was possible to feel more anxious before Dagmar came out of Binns’ room. She walked out with Blaise when the bell rang, her eyes unfocused in a way Draco recognized from when he still took the course. Dagmar came back to herself after spotting Draco. Her smile faded quickly, though, as she studied him. Blaise and Luca had already headed off.

“Something wrong?” Dagmar slipped her hand into Draco’s.

“Mm. . .” Draco hated that Dagmar had to go straight to study hall. He didn’t want to make her wait a number of hours until they could properly discuss it, for surely knowing they had something to talk about would affect Dagmar’s work. At least going through the hallways, clunky as the conversation might be, Draco could steer Dagmar toward holding it in Norwegian. “Just stuff going on. I got the boomslang skin off Snape, and he asked about that graveyard.”

“What about it?” Dagmar replied. “How did he even know?”

“Potter. Snape basically told me he’s on Dumbledore’s side. For real, I mean, not just a spy. There are meetings. They must all talk about us.”

Dagmar scoffed.

“They think we’re not safe if you met You-Know-Who and walked away.”

“Well. . .” Dagmar turned uneasy. “We’ve thought the same since we got back to Hogwarts. It’s not new.”

“June is coming fast. We should start figuring out what we’re going to do.”

“Ja.”

“Snape offered help, but I don’t know. This is still something we were going to do all on our own. If we don’t need anybody, we shouldn’t ask.”

Dagmar nodded. Despite the topic, her smile managed to return. “Your Norwegian is getting really good.”

“Good teacher and lots of practice.” Draco winked.

Dagmar brought them to a stop outside the library and held Draco close to share a lingering kiss. “Thanks for letting me know about the other thing.”

“Of course.”

She had settled into study hall before Draco remembered the bit about Professor Parasca. Draco would just have to tell her later. For now, he was content to sit where he could see Dagmar through the study hall door, smiling whenever they caught each other’s eye.

* * *

Friday was the first night Draco and Dagmar were due to test their Polyjuice Potion again. Draco was antsy to see if maybe this time they’d done it. After brewing the potion overnight, it looked about the same as last time, but thicker.

“I guess I’ll go first,” Dagmar said with a grimace. She scooped some of the potion into a glass. “I need a hair.”

Draco bowed his head. He winced when Dagmar didn’t have much luck until she wrapped one of the longer ones near the top around her finger.

Dagmar dropped it into the potion. Her eyebrows went up when the muddiness gradually transitioned into something silky in texture and silver in colour.

“ _That’s_ promising.” Dagmar kicked off her shoes. “It looks like liquid mercury. Er—maybe get some of the antidote handy, just in case.”

Draco laughed on his way to their cupboard. “You think I’m literally poisonous?”

“Hey, _I_ didn’t take offence when you had some on the table before drinking it.”

Draco hesitated as he looked at the antidote vials. He’d thought they’d brewed enough back in January for five, but there were only four. With a shrug, Draco grabbed one and returned.

“All right, do it,” he told Dagmar. “Let’s see what happens.”

Dagmar swirled the glass under her nose with a thoughtful hum. “It doesn’t smell bad, so I at least shouldn’t need a bucket on standby. Here goes nothing.”

She tipped up the bottom of the glass, drinking it as fast as she could. It had the consistency of milk, and left a film on Dagmar’s top lip. She wiped it off with the back of her jumper.

“Anything?” Draco asked.

“Er—”

Dagmar cut herself off, eyes widening. She touched a hand to her abdomen. Her expression contorted with discomfort and she leaned on the table. Draco eased her onto a stool, holding her upright. Just as he started to wonder if he ought to pop open the antidote vial and dump it down Dagmar’s throat, her shoulders started to shift underneath Draco’s hands. They broadened before his eyes. Her plait unravelled itself as the end of it rose toward her head. The tie fell off as her hair shrunk past the nape of her neck in length.

The clothes Dagmar had borrowed earlier off Draco fit now. Draco felt a bit like he was having an out-of-body experience as Dagmar, still lightly panting, inspected her hands. She looked up at Draco—or, rather, Draco looked up at himself.

“Considering your face—” Dagmar rubbed her throat with a slight wince. “Herregud, listen to me. That is so _weird_ to have your voice.”

“It worked,” Draco managed after shaking off the excess shock.

Dagmar stood up so that she could take a look at her reflection in a glass cupboard. She laughed, another weird thing for Draco to hear as he realized just how much hers differed from his. “Herregud. We did it.”

“Yeah.” Draco was still staring. He leaned his hip against the table and folded his arms as Dagmar returned to him.

“Can I have your shoes, then?” she asked.

“Oh—yeah.” Draco slipped them off. “I guess I’m up, am I?”

Dagmar picked up the hair she’d plucked earlier from her head. Draco ladled himself some of the potion. His heart started to pound a little. “What’s it feel like?”

“Very uncomfortable,” Dagmar said. “Painful in places. I was mostly distracted by the feeling of your willy growing in.”

Draco laughed suddenly enough at that to accidentally spill some of the potion down the side of his glass. “I’m not looking forward to the opposite of that.”

“It’s definitely strange. My head and chest are so light without any hair or baps. I also _really_ don’t know how you stand all the dangly parts.”

Draco was at least braced this time to snort, as Dagmar adjusted the crotch of her trousers with a fresh grimace on her face. “You’re used to it, just in different places.”

Dagmar handed him her hair, which Draco dropped into the glass. Just like with his, the potion thinned out. Rather than silver, it turned green.

“Well, here we go,” Draco said. 

“Sit down first,” Dagmar warned him.

Draco did, and took a deep breath as he studied the drink. He wished now that he’d taken it at the same time as Dagmar so that he couldn’t see just how painful it might be. Dagmar stood against his back, hands on Draco’s shoulders, and Draco tried to ignore how weird it felt that they were _his_ hands touching him the way Dagmar usually did. Before he could delay any further, Draco knocked back the potion.

His insides started shifting. For the briefest of seconds, it felt to Draco like he’d just eaten something that didn’t agree at _all_ and was determined to shoot right for the other end. As the sensation worsened, Draco began to wish that’s what was happening. An ache spread through his bones as his shoulders shrunk and his hips broadened. His head felt like every hair on his head was being tugged on. It grew past his eyes like an unraveling spool of thread. The feeling of his genitals shrivelling away horrified him. The way Draco leaned on the table started to hurt. When Draco sat up straighter, his chest was indeed weirdly heavy.

Everything came to a stop. Various aches and discomforts existed as a ghost, but as far as Draco could tell, he was a woman.

Dagmar rested her bum on the edge of the table. “Well, look at you.”

“I feel weird,” Draco said. Thankfully, Dagmar had a voice on the deeper side for a woman, so Draco didn’t have such a hard time with that.

“Join the club,” Dagmar replied. “It’ll wear off in a couple hours. Good news is, once we bottle up a sample of this potion and get it to Snape, we don’t have to think about this project anymore.”

A good feeling managed to penetrate the agonizing dysphoria Draco experienced. He stood up, still shaky, and pushed his hair back away from his face as he slipped into Dagmar’s shoes.

Dagmar bent down to pick up the hair tie she’d lost through the course of transformation. “Come here, I’ll get your hair out of your way. It’s a pain in the arse after too long if you leave it down.”

Whether Dagmar meant him to or not, Draco wound up facing his reflection. He stared at himself with that same moony expression Dagmar sometimes had when she was stressed out. It was weird to watch himself braid her hair, something Draco had never actually done.

“There you go.” Dagmar ran a hand over Draco’s shoulder when she was done. “Let’s get a sample of this to Professor Snape before it has a chance to spoil or something. I’m not sure how stable it is, and I’d rather not find out.”

“Sure.”

With something to do, Draco started to feel better. He took it upon himself to ladle their sample. Even little things were beginning to become apparent. His hands felt weird, since his fingers were slimmer. The ladle was ever so slightly heavier than it had been a few minutes ago. Dagmar didn’t have as much strength in her arms as Draco did, this deep into the Quidditch season.

“Should I vanish the rest?” Dagmar asked. “I don’t think we should leave it here, just in case another student comes by and recognizes it for what it is.”

“Might as well,” Draco replied. “If for some reason this sample degrades by the time we get it to Snape, we know how to make it now. We still have plenty of time before the deadline. We could always whip up another cauldron.”

“Ja.”

The initial shock of being in a different body was starting to wear off. Draco was capable of feeling amused as he listened to his own voice with Dagmar’s mild accent. He wondered if, after living long enough in Norway, he would develop a similar one.

With their station cleared down and the Polyjuice Potion in Draco’s hand, they headed off for Snape’s office. Draco started to feel weird again as they walked. Moving the way he usually did didn’t feel right, and he was forced to adjust to accommodate a different skeletal structure. Draco was weirdly aware of his chest. He kept pulling the jumper away, as if that would help him forget there were literal bags of fat hanging off his front.

Dagmar laughed softly beside him. “Doing all right?”

“I definitely like them better when they’re on you.” Draco pulled a face. “Bloody hell, I can even feel my arse jiggling when I walk.”

“I feel so firm. Except—”

Draco grabbed Dagmar’s hand before she could tug on her trousers again. “Not in the hallway. Come on, you know better.”

“It’s annoying.”

“Every other bloke in this school manages to resist the urge. You can too.”

Draco slid his fingers through Dagmar’s as a means to distract. That felt weird too, as he was reminded of how small his hands were. It at least still felt right between him and Dagmar, even if he was looking over at her now as if they walked with a mirror between them. Dagmar returned his smile, and while strange to study himself, it was nice for Draco to see what he looked like when happy.

They let go of each other as they approached Snape’s office. Draco couldn’t decide if he was surprised Snape was actually here on a Friday night.

“Er, Professor?” he addressed him.

Snape looked up from his desk. “Evening, Ms. Ramstad, Mr. Malfoy. What can I do for you?”

“We finished our Polyjuice Potion.” Draco set the vial on Snape’s desk. “We just tested it, and it worked.”

“Can we hand in our notes during Tuesday’s lesson so we have a chance to make a nicer copy?” Dagmar asked.

“I’d rather take the rough one, so I can see your thought process,” he replied, setting Dagmar on digging in her bag. Snape studied both of them. “You’re currently under its effect?”

“Yep,” Draco answered.

“You realize only one of you had to take it to test it, yes?”

Dagmar snorted. All Draco could do was shrug. “Oh well.”

“The only other thing I would like from you is to know how long your potion lasts before it wears off.” Snape accepted the pile of parchment from Dagmar.

“How long _can_ it last?” Draco asked.

“The longest known is twelve hours.”

Draco grunted, unsure how to feel about that. He sincerely doubted he and Dagmar had done _that_ well. “If we don’t change back by the time we go to bed, how will we know the duration?”

“You’ll know. If you manage longer than an hour, I will be truly impressed.”

Draco certainly felt lighter, leaving there. Ever since the first day of classes, that project had been looming over him.

“Remember when you were panicking about the fluxweed?” he asked Dagmar. “Feels like ages ago.”

“What a load off.” Dagmar sighed. “I certainly learned a lot from making such a complicated potion from scratch, but I’m not sure I ever want to do it again.”

“Until you need something.” Draco took Dagmar’s hand again. “If you can make a potion from scratch, you can do anything. I think for you, that skill would come in really handy as a Healer.”

“Ja,” Dagmar agreed with a new smile. “Thoughts on going upstairs?”

Draco raised his eyebrows, scoffing nervously. “Little blunt, that is.”

“We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to,” Dagmar reminded him with a squeeze. “I just really want to take these trousers off.”

Draco laughed. “I guess. Well, if this turned out to be a good batch of Polyjuice Potion, it could be nearly breakfast tomorrow before we change back. We might as well spend the night.”

“Might as well.”

Since Dagmar wasn’t pushing for anything, Draco started to relax about what their night might hold in store. He was actually getting used to this new body now. It helped that he and Dagmar were the same height. Draco was a little less aware of the more prominent physical differences between them. Until Draco thought about it, he was no longer aware of how things moved with the sway of his hips. The jumper he wore—one of his that now fit loose—didn’t restrict his chest in the way Dagmar complained about with her bras. Draco counted himself lucky Dagmar didn’t insist he try one on to see just why she hated them so much.

One thing he did notice was that, despite his jumper hiding everything from view, the gazes of passing boys still flicked that way. Draco frowned.

“Not that I’m not guilty. . .” he said to Dagmar in Norwegian, “but do blokes always just instantly glance at your chest?”

“Ja,” Dagmar breezily replied. “I think we’re all guilty. It’s not even really sexual, just human nature.”

“I guess I’m only noticing that now because I’ve never had them before.”

It still made Draco self-conscious. He hadn’t really thought how weird this situation might seem to somebody else. Walking around in someone else’s body, even though Dagmar did the same right beside him, felt somehow wrong in regards to the rest of the school population.

He was relieved when they finally made it to the Room of Requirement. Before the door even closed, Dagmar was working on her trousers. Draco was just happy to be somewhere more private. He laid down on the bed, pulling a face at how his chest moved with his momentum.

“They have a bit of a mind of their own, don’t they?” he asked.

“Truly magical.”

Draco snorted. That he could agree with. If he hadn’t seen Dagmar mindlessly (and sometimes not so mindlessly) playing with her own, he’d feel weird about pushing them around a bit. The feeling was still more fascinating in his hand than his chest, which was interesting. It meant women played with their own to experience that jiggling feeling too. Maybe that too was more general human nature than sexual.

Dagmar laid down beside him. “Having fun?”

“Yeah.” Draco had both cupped in his hands.

“I’m not so sure, myself.” Dagmar jested. Now that they were somewhere more private, she adjusted herself through the pants she’d borrowed off Draco earlier. “I want to play with it, but I can’t even get comfortable.”

“You get used to it,” Draco said. “I miss mine, but I’m too focused on other things, anyway.”

He was starting to understand why Dagmar complained all the time about being cold. While the castle still retained a bit of chill from the receding winter, Draco felt it more than usual and certainly more than earlier. He pulled back the blanket so that he could curl up underneath. Dagmar wasn’t far behind him, and it was only with minimal hesitation Draco let her wrap him up in her arms. She was much warmer, and, while it was strange to cuddle with himself, Draco generally enjoyed being held like that by her. He missed softness in the body beside him, was the only thing. Running his hand over her hip out of habit didn’t have to same effect when it wasn’t as fleshy.

“You know what’s nice?” Dagmar asked. “I always feel like I’m a big person. Not fat, you know, but just tall and all that. Right now, my body seems a little small.”

Draco chuckled. “You feel even smaller to me, now that I know what your side of this is like.”

Dagmar slid a hand up the back of Draco’s jumper to scratch his back. That at least hadn’t changed in how good it felt. Draco turned his face more toward Dagmar yet again out of habit and paused after opening his eyes. His and Dagmar’s noses were almost close enough to brush. Draco wanted to kiss her, but he wasn’t sure about how weird kissing himself would be. Because it was Dagmar, Draco at least didn’t think of it as kissing a man. He’d never felt any curiosity for that experience, although he was quickly finding that he was malleable to try in a situation like this.

Draco closed his eyes again as Dagmar leaned in. His own lips felt different, less soft than Draco preferred. Dagmar sought a way to make up for it, treating him as gently as possible as they fit together against each other. Habit had Draco trying to grope Dagmar, which ended their kiss with twin snorts when he came up empty-handed.

Dagmar resituated her head on the pillow and smiled deviously as she did what Draco had attempted. Her hand soon wandered down through the valley of Draco’s waist and came to rest on his hip. Dagmar regarded him thoughtfully. “Anything you’ve ever been curious about?”

“Like what?”

“Anything. You’re always so curious about things like my period. I find it hard to believe there’s nothing else.”

Draco hummed. “Plenty, I guess, but where are you going with this?”

“I wouldn’t mind fooling around, if you’re into it.” Dagmar couldn’t resist a grin. “I’m curious about some things and I don’t think there’s any better time to give them a try.”

“What’re _you_ curious about, then?” Draco lifted his chin at her.

“Wouldn’t mind trying a wank or something, to see how it’s different,” Dagmar said. “Definitely curious what it feels like to be inside a woman based on how you enjoy it, but I understand if that’s too much.”

Draco wasn’t as leery about it all as he thought he might be. He definitely understood the allure of experiencing the opposite sex’s orgasm. Dagmar’s always seemed so much more intense than his.

“I mean. . .” Draco shrugged. “We’ll stop if it gets weird, right? Or if anything’s uncomfortable?”

“Nothing’s changed, there.”

Draco smiled, encouraged. Thank god for him in this situation that he and Dagmar held onto that as a basic principle of their relationship. Now that he was in her position, Draco appreciated it all the more. He couldn’t imagine what it would be like to be groped at or pressured into doing anything if that was their usual dynamic.

He felt comfortable enough to kiss her first, this time. Draco wasn’t quite yet ready to hand the reins over to Dagmar, who seemed just as content to let him take lead. She exhaled through her nose when Draco touched her through her pants. “Little forward, are we?”

“Trust me, I know my way around it better than anyone.”

Dagmar laughed.

It remained strange to touch it on someone else, but Draco still knew the pace he liked best when warming up. Sure enough, Dagmar was soon blushing and pressing her face into the pillow as she grew hard in Draco’s hand.

“It really doesn’t feel _too_ different.” Dagmar’s eyelids hooded as Draco slowly stroked her. “Just in a different place.”

Draco was beginning to understand what she meant by that. He hadn’t really been able to imagine how arousal would change in a female body. As it started to bud within him, he likened it slightly to wearing tight pants. Everything was crammed up inside, and swelling only meant resistance. There was a slight heat to it, which seeped up into Draco’s lower abdomen and down his inner thighs.

Dagmar came closer again to kiss Draco, accidentally pulling Draco’s hair by putting her elbow on his braid. Usually it was Draco that had to be mindful, which lightened the air between them again before Dagmar made herself a home with her mouth attached to Draco’s neck. That felt heavenly too, since Dagmar was so much more sensitive there than Draco was. He shivered and stiffened intermittently while she nibbled, licked, and sucked away. The ache in his lap had taken on a throb, only getting worse as Dagmar sought out the other places on her body Draco ever garnered the most reaction from. Gooseflesh followed the rake of her fingers over his stomach, and Dagmar drew fire into Draco’s thighs when the pads of her fingers sought the softer inner skin. Draco was certainly warm enough now to ditch his clothes. His inhibitions were quickly going with them.

“Just to warn you,” Dagmar murmured against Draco’s ear as she slipped her hand between his legs. “Clits are a _lot_ more sensitive.”

Draco’s focus shifted, to see what she meant. It was a good thing she touched him gently, for the difference was immediately obvious. Every nerve ending focused in one little spot. Dagmar’s muscle memory was obvious. Draco trembled if she got too carried away with it. She would ease off when it overwhelmed Draco.

Dagmar rested her forehead against Draco’s. “Could I finger you?”

“Sure,” Draco agreed. He was curious to see what the fuss was about that, too. If Dagmar expected them to go as far as intercourse, he’d appreciate an overview first.

He tensed at being touched, since normally that was where his balls should be. Nothing should ever be going inside his body there. Since nothing hurt the way Draco would expect, were he still in a male body, he relaxed enough for Dagmar to slide one finger in. Really, it didn’t feel like much at all.

“Don’t be alarmed if you feel like you have to pee,” Dagmar told him with a soft kiss. “You won’t.”

Draco furrowed his brow, but he understood what she meant after a few moments. He laughed a little. “I see why you like that.”

“Feels good, right?”

It started feeling _really_ good when Dagmar added a second finger. Draco expected some discomfort with it, but really, now he thought about it, he couldn’t remember the last time Dagmar was uncomfortable with anything inside her. There were a couple times a new position didn’t work for her if the angle was weird, but that was more to do with lacking pleasure than presence of pain.

Dagmar groaned against Draco’s lips as he finally had enough mind about him to stroke her again. “I want to try going down on you.”

Draco was feeling pretty pliant. “‘Kay.”

Rather than slide down the bed, Dagmar bent down over between Draco’s legs. He couldn’t see what she was doing, but his breath caught regardless as a tongue slid through such sensitive parts. Draco nearly slapped Dagmar’s back in his haste to hold onto something, which drew a laugh from Dagmar as she let off. “Now you know why I love it so much.”

“Yeah, I get it.”

Her head dropped back down. Draco allowed himself another moment to enjoy it before he could focus again on her. Stroking Dagmar was a little awkward with the angle her legs and his arm were at. It was just as fascinating to watch her fuck his hand.

“Hey,” Draco said to get her attention. Even though his heart rate picked up a little, Draco wanted to do something for Dagmar the same way she did for him. “Could you come closer?”

Dagmar paused again. “How so?”

“I might as well give it a shot. Why not.”

“Sure,” Dagmar laughed. “I wouldn’t mind knowing what all the fuss is.”

She sat up long enough to get her pants right off. Draco figured he’d be intimidated or uncomfortable at the prospect of giving a blow job, but right now it was Dagmar’s, and Draco didn’t like doing nothing in return. Her groan as Draco took her into his mouth more than made it worth it.

Hot breath spilled over Draco’s inner thigh. “That _is_ nice.”

“Mhm.”

Draco kept on, but he was becoming increasingly distracted by swelling pleasure. He couldn’t help but quiver, and it was too hard to hold back on making a peep. He let off of Dagmar with his mouth, forehead against her thigh instead as everything wound into place and the best kind of heat rolled confidently through his body. His trembling worsened as Dagmar’s mouth on him became too much.

She let off before he could ask her to. Her hair was a mess, her jaw lax as she sat up. Dagmar wiped her mouth off on the back of her hand as the two of them looked at each other.

“I think women got the better deal,” Draco said.

Dagmar snorted her way into a laugh. Draco joined in, although now his shakiness had changed back to shivers. Dagmar joined him under the blanket when he pulled it up over himself. She poked his lower stomach, still having not cum.

“Did you still want to try fucking me?” Draco asked.

Dagmar broke into a slow smirk. “You offering?”

Draco nudged her. “Wouldn’t bring it up if I wasn’t.”

He felt a little shy as Dagmar rolled him onto his back and took up between his legs, but it was a good shy. This was by far Draco’s favourite way to be with her when in their normal bodies, and he was extremely curious to know if it was as good on the receiving end as Dagmar let on. He did like the weight of her whenever she was on top, but Draco certainly felt more vulnerable this time.

Dagmar had to sit back on her knees when it came to joining their bodies, so she could see what she was doing. The furrow in her brow endeared Draco and reminded him of the first time _he_ ever tried to figure out how to get himself into someone else. At least the Polyjuice Potion put Draco in Dagmar’s body as was. Draco wasn’t really keen to find out what a woman’s first time felt like.

He underestimated anyway just how big a penis would feel. Granted, Draco was on the girthier side, but he tensed regardless of lack of pain. Dagmar pulled back out.

“It didn’t hurt, did it?” she asked.

“No, it’s just not what I’m used to.”

“I get that.” Dagmar kissed his knee. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Draco squeezed her leg and looked instead up at the ceiling. If he could just focus entirely on restricting his body’s reflexes, this would go a lot easier. He doubled down as Dagmar tried again.

She chuckled. “What’re you making that face for?”

“Concentrating.”

“Clearly.”

It still didn’t hurt, thankfully, so Draco relaxed. It was strange to have something inside him like that, but he could appreciate what Dagmar liked about it. Being held open had similar tenets to being the one squeezed.

Dagmar made a face too that brought a breathy laugh out of Draco. “You look lost.”

“Ja. . .I’m not going to last long.”

She certainly seemed distracted when she leaned down to kiss Draco. It didn’t surprise him at all when Dagmar gasped against his shoulder less than a minute later. Draco could feel what she meant about him pulsing inside her, and he only just realized that he was going to find out very soon how little fun it was to clean out after being cummed into.

Dagmar’s weight on top of Draco restricted his breathing. He still could well enough, so he didn’t see the harm in waiting until she was ready to move. He scratched and rubbed her back while nuzzling her.

She exhaled heavily. “Well, I certainly have a brand new respect on your ability to hold off.”

Draco laughed. “Believe me, my first couple years of shagging was pretty much just like that.”

Dagmar rolled off beside Draco, reaching again for the blanket. She ran her fingers back through her hair. “I honestly didn’t think you’d want to give anything a go.”

Draco shrugged. “It was weirder when we first took the potion, but I got used to it. I don’t even really see myself right now, because I know it’s you.”

“It didn’t feel strange to you at all as a woman?”

“Yeah, but not necessarily in a bad way.” Draco curled up tighter with the blanket around his shoulders. “I don’t know. I think it helps to know it’s only temporary.”

Dagmar scratched his back under the covers. “I had fun, anyway. I appreciated the chance to know what things are like from your perspective.”

Draco snorted. “What shade of red do you think Snape would turn if we’d included this in our notes?”

“Somewhere between brick and burgundy, I’d wager.”


	26. Water of the Womb

The Polyjuice Potion had been in effect for going on three hours when Dagmar gave up on the idea of changing back to herself before bed. She was looking forward to it now that the experience’s novelty had worn off, although changed her mind when the transformation woke her up sometime in the morning’s early hours. She sat up in the bed afterward, panting. She looked up when a glass appeared in her peripheral vision.

Draco was back to himself too. “I debated waking you up before it hit.”

“Ugh, what an awful feeling.” Dagmar sipped the water he offered. “Thanks.”

Draco crawled into bed and curled up against Dagmar’s back. Dagmar ran her fingers lightly over his forearm when he put it around her middle, but remembered nothing else before there was sunlight outside.

Before going to the Great Hall for breakfast, Dagmar headed down to the dorm room to put some of her own clothes on. Daphne was still there in the bathroom, getting ready for the day. Dagmar tiptoed across the room to her bed, but Daphne sniffed her out regardless.

“Well, well, well,” she said, amusement in her voice. “Look who comes crawling back into the dorm on a Saturday morning.”

“Ja, fancy that.” Dagmar pulled her curtain shut so she could change.

“I take it your Polyjuice Potion worked out?” Daphne asked. “I didn’t think you’d come back to the dorm if you looked like Draco.”

“It did. It’s _so_ nice to have that project over and done with,” Dagmar replied.

“Theo and Blaise are going to start their first attempt at Amortentia on Wednesday.” Daphne’s voice carried through as she came out of the bathroom. “They found some third-years willing to get paid to take it. That should be fun to watch.”

“Can’t think of better quality entertainment, myself.”

Daphne stood up from the edge of her bed when Dagmar was dressed. The rest of their friends had beat them to the Great Hall. They were laughing when Dagmar and Daphne joined them.

Theo wiped at his eye. “Draco was just telling us about your potion.”

“Oh, was he?” Dagmar raised her eyebrows at him.

“Just the differences between being a man and a woman,” Draco clarified. “I have a lot fewer jiggly parts this morning.”

“No more dangly parts for me, thank goodness.” Dagmar reached for some coffee to pour for herself. “I’ll feel more pity than disgust if I see a bloke adjusting in public. It can get bad.”

They all started laughing again.

“So now, be honest.” Theo was wiping tears of mirth again from his eyes. “Was that _all_ you got up to last night?”

“Well, of course not,” Dagmar answered. She looked at Draco again. “I don’t mind talking about it if you don’t.”

Draco shrugged. “Honestly, what we did was probably a lot tamer than whatever Theo’s imagination could come up with.”

“It was totally scientific,” Dagmar told their grinning friends with a wave of her hand. “I thought it would be weirder. When you’re still with the same person, it’s not much different. An adjustment, obviously.”

“I didn’t really think about it after a while,” Draco said. “Even sucked my first willy.”

They all erupted with that, Theo the loudest. Milly started choking on the bit of egg she hadn’t spit out onto her plate, and both Blaise and Luca turned red in the face as they howled. McGonagall’s voice sounded somewhere outside the din, and they all fell quiet as she addressed them again.

“That’s quite enough,” she sharply told them. “There’s no need to be that loud.”

Milly coughed again before clearing her throat. They all leaned in closer to carry on in whispers as the hall at large returned to their meals. If they got anywhere close to noisy again, McGonagall’s gaze shot over at them like a hawk’s.

Not having the Polyjuice Potion to be concerned about freed up a lot of Dagmar’s mental space. The regular load from classes didn’t feel as bad as she and Draco resumed their regular study schedule come Monday evening. The mood in the castle picked up again as the weekend crept closer, since Gryffindor and Hufflepuff would face off Saturday.

Dagmar woke up Saturday morning merely happy to have something like a date with Draco as they went with their friends to the match. Ginny was especially hungry for it today. Creevey and Wolpert could barely keep up with her, but they managed. Maybe it was because they came into the match as the underdogs, but Dagmar cheered a bit louder whenever Gryffindor got the quaffle in. Draco even clapped when Potter ended up with the snitch, despite the sour air between them.

Gears shifted again Monday with classes. Professor Parasca’s arrival in the Defence classroom Tuesday morning hushed them all. Dagmar’s foot jiggled through register out of eagerness to find out what their next area of study would be.

“By a show of hands,” Parasca said after marking off Blaise, “who here knows what a lich is?”

Dagmar put her hand up along with about half the class. It had been one of the questions that initially stumped Dagmar on Parasca’s quiz first lesson.

“Good, some of you took the time to look into it.” She smiled as she folded her hands behind her back. “Would someone enlighten us—ah, Ms. Granger.”

“A lich is an undead magic-user,” Hermione stated. “While alive, a witch or wizard constructs something called a phylactery, which contains their soul separate from their body. A lich cannot die or be killed unless the phylactery is destroyed first. If someone _does_ try to kill them, they can live on enough to potentially generate or inhabit a new body.”

“Well done, ten points to Gryffindor,” Parasca replied. “Now, liches are not common dark magic-users to come across, as the process to become one is lengthy and complicated. Of course, I will not teach that here, for I myself am not completely sure what that is. . .”

It was an interesting lecture anyway, and Dagmar didn’t even bemoan the three feet of parchment assigned at the end.

“Well, I reckon _I_ know why Parasca lectured on them,” Draco said as they headed for Potions. “Doesn’t take much stretch of the imagination that You-Know-Who might’ve gone that route, given he came back after he should’ve died.”

Dagmar nodded. “Can’t beat him if you don’t understand him, right?”

“I wonder what You-Know-Who’s phylactery would be,” Draco replied. “What do you reckon?”

“Something he could keep close, so he knows it’s intact.” Dagmar pursed her lips in thought. “If it can be a living thing, most likely Nagini.”

“Who’s that?”

“His snake.” Dagmar paused. “Can I tell you a secret?”

“Yeah, of course.”

Dagmar looked around to make sure that nobody was paying them any attention. She leaned over to Draco’s ear and lowered her voice. “I’m a Parselmouth.”

Draco snapped his head in her direction, brow furrowed. He studied her. “Surely you’re taking the piss.”

“Nei.” Dagmar shrugged.

Draco made a thoughtful noise, his brow still low as he looked on ahead. “When did you find out?”

“Knew when I was a kid,” Dagmar replied. “I thought everybody was. Then Mum told me to keep it to myself.”

“Hm.” Draco thought some more. “Okay, then.”

His blasé response made Dagmar nervous. “Does it upset you?”

“No, just. . .didn’t expect it.”

Dagmar nodded. Honestly, if Draco wasn’t reacting as though repulsed, she should be grateful. Dagmar had been at the duelling club back in second year, when Potter accidentally revealed himself as one. The uproar it had caused, especially when the Chamber of Secrets opened. . .

“How come you bring that up after mentioning You-Know-Who’s snake?” Draco asked. “Did it say something to you?”

“Nei, I just heard it talking to him.”

They had no choice but to stop discussing it as Blaise and Theo caught up. When Potions started, they had to be quiet anyway while Snape talked, but Dagmar felt regardless as though Draco’s silence stemmed from what she told him.

Dagmar touched Draco’s foot with hers as they got started on the day’s assignment. “I still feel like you don’t like what I told you.”

“I’m just thinking.” He shrugged. “Obviously it has a bit of a dark reputation here, but I’m curious how it’s different in Norway.”

“Well, my mum told me to hide it, so. . .”

“Who in your family speaks it?”

Dagmar slowed in dicing up her crocodile heart. “What do you mean?”

“It’s hereditary, or at least I thought it was.” Draco was measuring out lavender. “Salazar Slytherin’s descendants spoke it.”

“I don’t know,” Dagmar answered. “I haven’t seen my dad’s family in years. They all live in Oslo. There’s no one left on my mum’s side.”

“No?” Draco looked up from his dropper.

“Mum said my grandparents died before I was born.” Dagmar went back to cutting. “My mum had a sister, but I don’t know what happened to her. Talking about her always upset my mum.”

“Fight, maybe?”

“Must have been after I was born, since Mum named me after her. Aslaug, my middle name,” Dagmar specified. “I always thought she was dead, though. That’s the impression I got.”

Draco fell quiet again. Dagmar wished he would stop doing that. For some reason, it was making her nervous. She prompted him again after class about it as they headed for lunch.

“It’s nothing,” Draco said. “Really, I mean it. I’m just realizing we’ve been together for nearly eight months and I didn’t know you have hardly any family beyond your parents. Considering I’m marrying in, it feels like something I should’ve known.”

“It isn’t like I kept it from you.” Dagmar squeezed his hand. “I just didn’t have any family to talk about, really.”

“Yeah.” Draco let their shoulders bump together as they walked. He smiled at her. “I promise, I’m not mad or anything. I just feel like I know you pretty well, so it’s strange when there’s something as big as that to still learn.”

“Okay.” Dagmar breathed a little easier.

Snape had taken the time during Potions to point out that Dagmar and Draco completed their final project, using it as means to terrify the rest of the class into action. He also strongly hinted that he knew of one pair already that would not complete by the deadline, which had a more potent effect than anything else on their classmates.

While they all looked stressed whenever Dagmar passed one in the castle (Hermione especially), the rest of her week progressed nicely. She and Draco were actually having extra time left over some evenings after completing their homework. The academic year for seventh-years was starting to wind down. All the courses’ syllabi set May aside as a review month, and half of April was a write-off anyway with the Easter holidays. Altogether, there were only really four weeks of actual lessons left.

Come Friday, Dagmar was making good time on her homework. Several assignments had all been set as due early the next week. Had Professor Vector not assigned something new that afternoon, Dagmar would have absolutely nothing to do all weekend. She was having a hard time motivating herself to consider beginning NEWT review early.

A little after three, Dagmar started watching the library from her spot in study hall for a glimpse of Draco. Her gaze softened when she saw him come in with Blaise and Luca. She returned their waves. Dagmar had barely returned to her Arithmancy assignment when she registered someone entering study hall out the corner of her eye. She took a double-glance when she saw it was Snape, and stopped writing altogether as he approached her desk.

“Er, afternoon, Professor,” she greeted him.

Snape curtly nodded. “I need you to come with me.”

Nerves fluttered in Dagmar’s stomach. “What for?”

“We won’t speak here.” Because some of the closer aide stations had begun to eavesdrop, Snape lowered his already-quiet voice. “Pack up your things.”

Dagmar’s hands shook as she did. Some nearby students whispered loudly enough for Dagmar to catch that she might be in trouble, and Dagmar shared their suspicion. Had Pansy gone to Snape?

Snape didn’t stay in study hall to wait for her. When Dagmar came out into the library, Draco was putting his bag back together as well. Blaise and Luca didn’t see anything funny about it, like the kids in study hall had. Blaise caught Dagmar’s eye, but she had no answers for him.

They headed upstairs in Snape’s wake. Nausea tickled the back of Dagmar’s throat. If they weren’t going down to the dungeons, then something was _very_ off. Dagmar took Draco’s hand. It was impossible to tell whose was more clammy. There was a long walk ahead of them, long enough for all sorts of wild theories to graduate Dagmar’s tense form into a slightly trembling one. When they came to a couple gargoyle statues, that at least solved one mystery: they were going to see Dumbledore. Maybe Dagmar’s parents defected from Voldemort. A glimmer of hope visited her that they might be up in the office, ready to apologize for the last three years.

“Come in,” Dumbledore said when Snape knocked on the door at the top of the staircase. To see him alone and solemn filled Dagmar with new dread, her tentative hope extinguished.

“Take a seat,” Dumbledore told Dagmar and Draco.

He conjured two chairs in front of his desk. Draco accidentally kicked one of the legs before sitting. He held his trembling hands together in his lap.

“I apologize that I must be the bearer of bad news.” Dumbledore folded his hands on his desk. ”Dagmar, your father died last night.”

Dagmar’s chest felt like she’d been kicked by a bicorn. She nodded, otherwise numb.

“I regret that there is more,” Dumbledore carried on after slight hesitation. “Your mother has been taken into custody by Aurors, as has your father, Draco. Not for what happened to Erik, mind you.”

Draco’s breathing shallowed. “What about my mum?”

“She wasn’t there when this all happened,” Dumbledore answered. “We are currently trying to locate her.”

“Does that mean she’s missing?”

“We don’t know.”

The weight of it bent Draco’s spine. He leaned over his lap, and all Dagmar could do through the veil of surreality buffering her from this was to rub Draco’s back. She knew it was devastating, knew nothing would ever be the same again, but she couldn’t feel it yet. She didn’t _want_ to feel it.

“What happened?” she asked. “Did my dad at least—was it quick?”

“Yes.” Dumbledore nodded. “It was the result of a Killing Curse.”

“Who killed him?”

“It was an Auror, one that either Hildegard, Lucius, Rodolphus, or Bellatrix killed.”

“Is that why my mum’s in custody?” Dagmar started to shake. “She killed someone?”

“She’s in custody because it’s uncertain, although because she is a Death Eater, it is likely she will go to Azkaban anyway. So will Lucius.”

Draco sat straight again. “Did my aunt and uncle get caught too?”

“Bellatrix escaped.” Dumbledore sighed quietly. “As did Voldemort.”

“He was there?” Draco’s voice grew raspy. “Where did all this happen?”

“At Ramstad Manor.”

That caught Dagmar in the throat like an iron hand. The last time she’d been home—the last time she’d seen her parents—rushed back. Her dad’s arms had been tight around her, the scent of tobacco present, and his beard scratchy on her face as he kissed her cheek in goodbye. She would never have that again.

Despite working against it, the sharp pain in Dagmar’s throat spilled upward into blurred eyes and an inability to catch her breath. Draco put his arm around her. Snape said something from where he stood off to the side, but Dagmar didn’t register anything but Dumbledore’s office door opening and closing again.

Dagmar wiped her cheeks after the worst of it passed. She barely had the strength to pull away from Draco, but she had more questions for Dumbledore.

“What did you have to do with this?” she asked.

Dumbledore bowed his head. If his gaze didn’t come back up, Dagmar would’ve thought he was trying to avoid her. “I will not lie to you, Dagmar. I had my part. As I believe you are aware, there is a group of witches and wizards led by me with the sole goal of opposing Voldemort. We became aware of your parents’ possible affiliation with him over the summer, and it was later confirmed.

“There are many who serve Voldemort that do not do so willingly. We had strong reason to believe that your parents fell into that category. If they required protection, we were prepared to offer it. It has worked in the past. It unfortunately didn’t this time. We will know more after your mother is interrogated, but possibly they were in too deep to believe we _could_ help. There was apparently a moment where they seemed convinced, but they changed their minds. Your father used his Dark Mark to summon Voldemort.”

Anger boiled up to overtake Dagmar’s grief. It wasn’t exactly news to her that her parents were fools. They’d proven it yet again to her, and look what that got them. Her father was dead. Her mum would spend the rest of her life in Azkaban. Was it worth it?

“I can’t believe how stupid they were.” Dagmar’s voice trembled. “I never understood. I never will.”

“To say it’s unfortunate is to speak lightly,” Dumbledore replied. “I too had wished this conversation could go very differently on yesterday’s heels. Now, there is one more thing we must discuss. Because there were deaths, it will not stay quiet. By Monday, news of it will reach Hogwarts by other means.”

Dagmar’s stomach dropped so fast she thought she might be sick.

“Considering the circumstances,” Dumbledore continued, “I believe it could be arranged for you two to briefly go and take some time to grieve while the student body has time to digest it. Do you have any family you would like to contact?”

“My mum, but. . .” Draco trailed off with a rough swallow. Dagmar shook her head in answer to Dumbledore’s question.

“Rest assured we are looking for her,” Dumbledore told Draco. “I can’t make any promises, but given the circumstances, we believe that she will accept an offer for sanctuary. As soon as we find her, we’ll let you know. We will arrange for you all to see each other. If finding her proves a difficult task, then we will keep you updated.”

Draco couldn’t turn any paler if he himself keeled over.

“Should we even leave Hogwarts?” Dagmar asked. “Will Voldemort come after us?”

“When we speak of him, please keep in mind that I don’t know everything,” Dumbledore told her. “I know him well enough to make educated guesses, and that is it. That said, I don’t believe he would consider you loose ends or targets of retribution for losing some of his followers in such fashion. This is a detail I neglected to mention earlier, but the reason your father died, Dagmar, was because he took that Killing Curse for Voldemort. I do not know your father’s motivations, but I don’t believe Voldemort would see it as anything other than the greatest sacrifice one of his followers could make for him. What you should brace for instead is attempted recruitment.”

“Nei,” Dagmar whispered.

“It was an Auror that killed your father, whether they intended to or not,” Dumbledore said. “Voldemort will use that. He will also use how the wizarding world will view and treat you, knowing that your parents are Death Eaters. He will try to make you see that you have nowhere else to turn.”

“We do, though.” Dagmar’s anger swelled again. “He destroyed my family. _He_ put my father in the ground three years ago, when he gave him that mark. I haven’t had parents for years. I’ve just been living with Death Eaters that cared more about him than me, whether they wanted to or not.”

“I’m relieved you’re wise enough to see that.” Dumbledore offered a brief smile. “We’ll keep in touch as the situation unravels. If you’re planning on remaining at Hogwarts for now, it could still be arranged for you to take some time away from lessons. It wouldn’t put a stopper on your homework, but it’s some sort of breather. If Narcissa is not found by the beginning of the Easter holidays, Draco, Professor Snape has offered to make contact with Voldemort to see what kind of inside information he could possibly obtain.”

Draco nodded mindlessly. His gaze had gone long, stuck to the front of Dumbledore’s desk. He snapped back a bit to himself when a knock sounded at the office door. Professor Snape had returned. Behind him was Blaise, his expression set not much differently than Draco’s had been.

“Your friends wanted to come back with me after I informed the house of your losses,” Snape told Dagmar and Draco. “The rest are waiting for you down below.”

“Was there anything else?” Dagmar asked Dumbledore.

“Not at the moment. Feel free to go if you have no more questions.”

Dagmar nodded just as shakily as she stood. Blaise maybe tried to smile at her, but it didn’t arrive beyond him pressing his lips together. He pulled her into a hug. “I’m sorry.”

She nodded against his shoulder, numbness returning. Draco looked about as present when Blaise moved on to him, but he at least had the mind to pat Blaise’s shoulder.

Professor Snape stayed up in the office. Dagmar appreciated the buffer Blaise offered between her and the rest of their friends. She didn’t feel so ashamed with him, because he already knew about this part of her home life. Dagmar _really_ wished this wasn’t how the rest of them learned.

At least they had still come. Daphne looked like she’d taken the brunt of the blow between them all, her eyes dry and nose red. Theo looked like he’d swallowed a handful of nails. Milly was the first of them to hug Dagmar, Luca the second. He sniffled near her ear before letting her go.

“I’m so sorry,” Daphne whispered to Dagmar as she started crying again. “That’s awful. I can’t believe it.”

When Snape said he’d informed the house, Dagmar wondered how far that went. Surely he couldn’t have told them all what Dumbledore had said up in his office. Dagmar felt sick at the idea of having to break that news all on her own, or for Draco to have to. It seemed to have hit him anew when faced with their friends’ grief for the situation. He tried his hardest to keep it all in. While he succeeded, his expression was pained.

“We were going to bring you back downstairs,” Blaise said with a clear of his throat. “If you guys need some time alone. . .”

“I don’t know,” Draco managed. “Maybe.”

* * *

Draco hardly felt like he was keeping himself together. The shock was wearing off fast, and he hated how far away Dumbledore’s office was from where he was going. Even if other students weren’t actually staring, Draco felt like they were. He didn’t know what to do with himself except to just keep moving. Every step was a conscious effort.

The common room was the toughest place to be. Everyone fell silent when they arrived. Draco’s mum might be gone. His father was, if he would spend the rest of his life in Azkaban. As much as he hated to think it, Draco wished he had the same certainty about his mum that Dagmar did about her dad. It felt dangerous to hope, but he couldn’t help that he did.

Thankfully as they approached the boys’ dorm, Dagmar did what Draco couldn’t and told their friends that ultimately they did need some time to themselves. The dorm felt safe. They had some privacy. They weren’t under Dumbledore’s gaze, or their friends’, or any of the rubberneckers they passed in the corridors.

Draco lingered in the centre and rubbed his face while Dagmar closed the door, unsure what to even do with himself. He went along with Dagmar when she led him by the hand over to his bed. She shut the curtain as well.

Laid down together, Draco felt least on display after burying his face in Dagmar’s neck. Fingers ran through his hair about as mindlessly as Draco rubbed Dagmar’s back. He let his grief and concern run free, but not for long. Draco swallowed it all back when he realized he was the only one with a wet face. Dagmar’s expression was blank, although she looked exhausted when he met her gaze.

“All right?” It was probably the stupidest thing Draco could ask in the moment, but Dagmar wasn’t reacting at all how he expected she would.

“They had the chance,” Dagmar replied. “Why didn’t they take it?”

“I don’t know.”

A new shine developed in Dagmar’s eyes as her gaze darted about. “I guess I had a feeling this would happen, that someone would die, or someone would go to prison. If they were close to switching, do you think it would’ve made a difference if we gave Potter or Snape anything when they asked?”

Draco pulled Dagmar closer when her eyes reddened with irritation. She sniffled as her fingers dug into his back.

“I don’t know,” Draco repeated. “You can’t blame yourself.”

“Why not?” she replied. “I could’ve done something. I could’ve done literally anything at all.”

“You can’t know that. We didn’t know anything, anyway.”

The last words Draco’s father spoke to him drifted unsolicited through his mind: _What would you know about the Dark Lord? Dagmar’s the child of some of his most loyal followers. You can’t imagine the sacrifices they’ve made to him._

“I think they were in over their heads,” Draco said when Dagmar didn’t respond other than to wipe her eyes and sniffle again. “There’s nothing we could’ve done if not even Dumbledore could help them.”

“I wonder if my dad _wanted_ to die,” Dagmar’s voice trembled, “if he just wanted it to be over.”

A pit opened in Draco’s stomach, leaving him nauseous as Dagmar’s frame racked with quiet sobs. Draco’s face pulled into a grimace by its own accord. His heart ached to be unable to do anything to help her. His own vision blurred again at the shared sentiment when she said she wanted her dad. The two of them had snubbed their parents all year, trying to distance themselves. Draco would have never guessed, after his father lifted his cane to him for the last time, that that decision would’ve been made for them. Draco wanted his mum more than anything right now.

Draco kept on stroking Dagmar’s hair when the acuteness of her grief passed again. She seemed to notice now the occasional kiss Draco pressed to the top of her head, enough so to lift her face and receive one to the forehead instead.

Dagmar looked in thought. While Draco watched her, her eyes dulled despite their lingering wetness.

“There’s something I could’ve done to avoid all of this.” Her voice was even and low. “I had a chance in the graveyard. I should’ve taken it.”

Whether it would’ve worked or not, Draco didn’t doubt Dagmar hated You-Know-Who enough right now to be genuinely regretful she hadn’t hit him with something more fatal than lightning.

“There’s no point thinking like that,” Draco told her. “Can’t go back.”

“I know.” Dagmar resettled her head on the pillow. “It just feels good to think about.”

Draco nodded mindlessly. He focused on Dagmar again when she cupped his cheek to get his attention.

“You’re worried about your mum, aren’t you?” she asked.

Nauseous, Draco nodded.

“What do you think happened? If your father defended Voldemort until the Aurors took him down, he wouldn’t be angry at her or anything.”

“If he took her, I’m scared he’ll use her.” Draco swallowed. “Dumbledore said he might try to recruit us. What if he wants to use my mum to lure us in?”

“Would he have to? We’ve already lost everyone else.”

“I don’t know, but what if he does?”

“He can try.” Dagmar didn’t look as convinced at that assertion as she studied Draco. Her forehead wrinkled. “You need to promise me right now that you’d never fall for that. I couldn’t handle it, Draco. I can’t lose anyone else.”

“What am I supposed to do if he does?”

“Anything but that.”

That didn’t leave Draco anywhere to go. If word reached him that he either needed to join or something would happen to his mum, he couldn’t just leave her to You-Know-Who’s devices.

“Promise me.” Dagmar’s eyes shone again. “If it comes to that, we’ll figure it out, but that’s not the way.”

Draco studied her. “You’d help me?”

“Of course I would.”

Amongst all the crushing uncertainty and fear, Draco felt a flicker of relief. He pushed Dagmar’s hair away from her face before resting his forehead against hers.

“We’ll figure it out, then,” he said. “Just like we always do.”


	27. Blood of the Covenant

It wasn’t with his usual keenness that Harry headed to Dumbledore’s office on Sunday evening. News had reached his ears late on Friday night that Erik Ramstad had been killed. There were also rumours about Lucius Malfoy and Hildegard Ramstad being in some sort of trouble. While the student body as a whole preferred the possibility that Hildegard had murdered her husband with Lucius’ help (and wouldn’t it be extra interesting if Hildegard and Lucius were having an affair?), Harry knew it ran a lot deeper than that.

McGonagall and Snape were already there. McGonagall could’ve fooled Harry that she had a mouth at all with how thin her lips had gone. Snape didn’t look in much a better mood.

“We’ll just wait for Vincent and Gregory, then,” Dumbledore said to break the silence. They thankfully didn’t show up much later than that, looking equally solemn. They also didn’t look like what Dumbledore had to tell them was new information. Harry did his best not to zone out at such a wave of bad news, and he felt that between him, Ron, and Hermione, he was the only one that actually managed to pay full attention. Ron ended up staring at the table, his eyes unfocused, while Hermione fended off tears on Ron’s other side.

“It’ll be in the Daily Prophet tomorrow,” Dumbledore finished with. “Not the whole story, just the basics that the public needs to know. Kingsley made it sound as if it were just a random encounter between his office and Death Eaters. We agreed it wasn’t prudent it be publicly known Voldemort was there.”

Harry’s mind bounced with questions. He settled on the one that probably needed answering most. “How are they?”

“Devastated.” Dumbledore sighed. “I think in ways it was expected, at least on Dagmar’s part. She didn’t seem too affected by the news. It wasn’t until she found out this happened in her home that she became upset.”

Crabbe cleared his throat. “The weekend was rough. We talked to them. They’ve basically just been holed up in the seventh-year boys’ dorm.”

“Figured we might as well try to say condolences and stuff,” Goyle said, surprising Harry with his vocabulary. “We didn’t know Mr. Ramstad or anything, but we knew Mr. Malfoy really well. All our families have been wrecked by this now, except for Theo’s.”

“He’s not taking it well either,” Crabbe added. “Mentioned his dad’s wanted out for a while. Never wanted to go in the first place when You-Know-Who came back. Not to get ahead of ourselves or anything, but it might not be a bad idea to try Mr. Nott like you did the Ramstads.”

“If he wants out, it is something to consider,” Dumbledore replied. “Given how it went with the Ramstads, it will take greater consideration the second time. Wesley may have already heard a conflicting story from Voldemort about what happened, which could complicate things.”

“What about getting to him through Theo?” Goyle asked.

“Another possibility.” Dumbledore offered him a smile. “The good news is, only Hildegard and Erik were aware of the actual reason why there were Aurors at their home. From Voldemort’s perspective, it may just look like the two of them were ambushed, and then they called in for reinforcements. As things are, I see no reason why Voldemort would consider Erik’s death as anything other than a sacrifice on his behalf. Hildegard and Lucius, like many other Death Eaters, were willing to go to Azkaban for him before they would give up any information.”

“I really don’t get it,” Harry said with a shake of his head. “Sure, it might all make sense from Voldemort’s perspective. Why would Erik jump in the way like that, though? You said Kingsley said Erik and Hildegard were on the verge of turning. Why go from that to literally giving his life for Voldemort? Voldemort probably wouldn’t have even died.”

“I don’t know,” Dumbledore replied. “It wasn’t an accident, according to Kingsley. It was deliberate. I’ll be going to Azkaban sometime this week to speak with Hildegard and Lucius. That is definitely something I would like to ask Hildegard.”

“What about Mrs. Malfoy?” Hermione asked. “There’s really no sign of her?”

“No.” Dumbledore folded his hands in his lap. “Kingsley paid a visit to Malfoy Manor. She wasn’t there.”

“So she ran?” Harry replied.

“Either that or was taken.” Dumbledore nodded at Snape. “Severus is going to go to Voldemort over the holidays to see what he can learn.”

“What about. . .” Harry leaned over the table on his elbow. “There might be a way to get an answer. What about the Malfoy house elves?”

“Kingsley asked them Narcissa’s whereabouts, but they couldn’t speak of them.”

“They would answer to Malfoy,” Harry said. “Wouldn’t they consider him a master?”

“Even if they do, that’s the easy part,” Ron told him. “Good luck getting Malfoy to agree to anything we tell him to do. If he didn’t hate us before, he sure does now.”

“We’ve been sitting with them most of the weekend.” Crabbe sat with his arms folded. “I don’t think either of them hate anyone for it other than You-Know-Who. They didn’t talk about nobody else.”

“That might have been because you were there,” Hermione replied. “You haven’t been around them for a while. The dynamic has changed.”

Both shrugged, the closest they’d get to admitting she was probably right.

“Guess we’ll see if it’s permanent,” Goyle said.

“It’s probably for the best that for now we don’t approach them,” Dumbledore told them all. “Yes, either Dagmar or Draco might be helpful. Now that their parents’ situation has changed so drastically, they might even be willing. That should be their decision, though. We need to respect their grief.”

* * *

Hiding out for the weekend was feasible, but as Monday gradually neared, a whole new dread emerged in Dagmar. They couldn’t hide from the rest of the school until the end of June. The sooner Dagmar and Draco faced them all, the better. Theo had made a good point too from experience that sticking to their usual routine would keep them from falling into the dumps. There was enough else to put them there already.

Dagmar cut where she could. She asked Professor Snape to meet with her Sunday morning in the common room so that she could relinquish study hall duties. It hurt to give it up since it had been her baby all year, but she sincerely doubted anyone—aides or students—would show up for the daughter of two Death Eaters.

Daphne and Milly waited for Dagmar to finish getting ready for classes on Monday. Dagmar was pretty sure that if she opened her mouth, she might toss. Draco, Blaise, Theo, Luca, Crabbe, and Goyle were waiting for them out in the common room. Dagmar felt better with Draco’s hand back in hers.

The Slytherins milling around stared. Dagmar got another taste of what was to come when they came up to the main floor from the dungeons. Conversations kept stopping, or just moved to whispers. Dagmar refused to look at any of them, but she could still see their gazes following her out the corner of her eye.

A nearly eerie silence passed through the Great Hall from where they walked in, reaching the farthest corner of the Gryffindor table before the rabble slowly started up again. Dagmar glanced down at the Slytherin table on her way along it and immediately wished she hadn’t. One of her housemates was reading the front page of the Daily Prophet. Her mother’s mugshot, as well as Mr. Malfoy’s and Rodolphus Lestrange’s, were splashed across it. It never bothered Dagmar how much she looked like her mother, but it came on strong now. At least nobody dared say anything to her or Draco, especially when Draco looked so miserable watching the Great Hall’s windows for his mum’s usual sweet package. Nothing came.

Dagmar had Draco, Theo, and Daphne as a buffer in Herbology. All of her friends except for Luca were in Charms. She’d sat with Blaise in Arithmancy since her fallout with Hermione. It felt weird not to have to go to study hall afterward. On the plus side, Draco and Luca waited outside the classroom.

Blaise walked with the three of them down to Care of Magical Creatures, and then headed back toward the castle with Dagmar. “How’re you doing?”

“Better than I thought I would be,” Dagmar answered. “I think Theo was right about needing to stick to a routine. It sucks to get stared at and talked about all day, but at least no one’s talked _to_ me. It’s probably more because people are afraid to rather than they’re being respectful of what’s going on, but whatever.” Dagmar shrugged. “I’ll take it.”

“That’s the spirit.”

Dagmar laughed. It felt nice to, even if somewhat forced. A too-familiar tightness in her throat quickly materialized afterward.

“I can’t believe how good you’ve all been to us through this,” Dagmar said, trying to hold her emotions steady. “It makes me really sad to think about the end of the year, when we’ll go our separate ways.”

“We’ll still see each other.” Blaise put an arm around Dagmar’s shoulders. “Don’t worry about it.”

“I didn’t expect to have _any_ of you except Draco.” Dagmar furtively wiped her eyes. “I thought we’d be alone all year, and then it would be easy to leave. We’d be _eager_ to leave.”

“Are you starting to think you might not?”

“Nei,” Dagmar refuted that right away. “I just wish you could all come with us.”

“We can’t all be busy all the time. There’ll be chances to sneak in visits. Holidays, too.”

That struck Dagmar particularly hard because the upcoming holidays were already difficult to face. Christmas ended up her last chance to see her parents, and she had blown them off.

“What’re you doing for Easter?” Blaise asked.

“Staying here,” Dagmar replied. “Draco and I don’t really have anywhere else to go. Even our own homes. . .I don’t know how I’ll ever go back to mine. It’s probably crawling with Aurors anyway.”

“If you change your mind and end up going somewhere, you could always pop by my place for Easter dinner,” Blaise offered. “It’ll just be me and Mum.”

“It wouldn’t be awkward?”

“I don’t think so.” Blaise shrugged. “Only as awkward as you and I could make it, and I think we’re well past that.”

Dagmar managed to smile. “If things change, I’ll ask Draco what he thinks.”

Two weeks to go until the start of holidays gave plenty of time for that in such a turbulent period. An owl arrived for Dagmar on Tuesday that she didn’t recognize. To her surprise, it had flown in from Oslo:

_Dagmar,_

_It has been many years since I last saw you, but I hope this letter finds you in good health despite the tough time. I’m not sure if you’ll even remember me. I’m the uncle that took you and your dad fishing down on Oslofjord when you were seven._

_I saw in the papers that your dad passed away last week. That saddens me greatly, especially since I expected he would amount to much more than what he did. I don’t mean that in a nasty way. If you understand, you may feel the same. This is certainly something none of us expected because he wasn’t like that when he was younger. We have a proud family history of standing up against what your dad ended up dying for._

_If you have any interest toward reconnecting, write back to me. I understand you’re still in school and that makes visiting difficult but you have family here thinking about you. We all hope you’re okay._

_Uncle Håkon_

Before Dagmar had much chance to do anything other than share it with Draco and cry from being emotionally touched, another one came the next morning from Fru Dyrdahl:

_Dagmar,_

_I saw the news. I am so sorry to hear about your mother and father. I hope you’re doing all right._

_Would you happen to have any plans over Easter? I understand if it is too soon to ask, but you are always welcome to come here if you need to get away for a little while._

_If there is anything you need from me or Filip, anything at all, don’t hesitate to ask. I’m unsure what sort of things you’ll have to deal with in regards to your family’s estate, but if you need any help navigating it I can be there with you._

_Janne_

Her offer was a bit too overwhelming to start for Dagmar, but she started to think more heavily on the last paragraph as yet another owl arrived on Thursday:

_Ms. Ramstad,_

_I hope this letter finds you well. I would like to begin by saying how terribly I feel for your loss._

_You may remember me, as we met once when I was visiting your home. My name is Enid Keene and I act as advocate for your parents’ estate. Several things have changed with it due to your father’s passing. Seeing as the Easter holidays are arriving, it might be the best time to meet. I don’t think it should wait until the end of your year at Hogwarts, although I understand if this is too short of notice. I was able to execute some portions of your father’s will due to time constraints, such as his wish to be cremated, but I am uncomfortable going much further without your involvement. In the meantime I will continue to maintain the accounts._

_Please advise me either way._

_Enid Keene  
_ _Tellery’s Advocate Office, Diagon Alley, London_

Draco received a similar one from a Mr. Clayton at the same office. He fell quiet after he and Dagmar swapped them to read.

“I don’t know what it means to get this letter,” he said. “Maybe things changed with my father going away, but what about my mum? She’s not—you know.”

Dagmar rubbed his back. “Maybe Mr. Clayton knows something.”

She regretted the rekindling of hope in Draco’s eyes. While Dagmar too wished with every fibre in her body that Narcissa was okay, she didn’t want to be that much more let down if things didn’t end up good. It was both a relief and unsettling that no word of her had arrived, now that a week passed since her disappearance. If Voldemort planned to use her against Draco, he would have most likely acted fast to get to him before Dumbledore could. No word of Narcissa could mean literally anything else.

“Do you think we ought to go home for the holidays, then?” Draco hesitantly asked.

“I think we pretty much have to. I didn’t even think about my dad’s body.” Dagmar pressed her lips together. “Where could we stay?”

“I don’t know.”

Dagmar thought about Blaise’s offer regarding the holidays, but he hadn’t meant it as that Dagmar and Draco could stay at his mum’s for the entire two weeks. Even if Mrs. Zabini and Blaise were okay with it, Dagmar could never ask it of them, nor would she accept if either suggested it. There was always the Leaky Cauldron, but Dagmar had little desire to spend two weeks in such a public space.

“We could ask Dumbledore,” Dagmar suggested. “I mean, I think he’d understand it’s important for us to deal with this stuff. He might know of a place.”

“It might be easier to ask Professor Snape,” Draco replied. “He’s just a bit more accessible.”

Dagmar agreed, so Draco met her that afternoon when History of Magic let out. They headed together down to his office.

“Come in,” Snape bid them when Draco knocked on the open door. “What did you need?”

“I think we have to take our names off the list to stay at Hogwarts over the holidays,” Dagmar said. “Both of us got letters today from our parents’ advocates. Apparently we have to go deal with some stuff about our families’ estates.”

“Very well.” Snape opened one of his desk drawers and pulled out the piece of parchment Dagmar had signed a few weeks ago.

Dagmar exchanged a quick glance with Draco. “We’re not really sure where to go. I mean. . .I don’t really want to go back to my manor if I can help it. The Aurors are still investigating anyway, aren’t they?”

Thinking, Snape slowed as he unstopped an inkwell. “I do not think the search was as extensive at Malfoy Manor beyond attempting to locate Narcissa. That it is currently under watch and protection from the Ministry may actually work in your favour for safety purposes. So long as you wouldn’t mind sharing the property with members from the Auror department, Dumbledore might be able to pull some strings on your behalf.”

“The Ministry would trust us?” Draco asked. “They don’t look at us like we were in with our parents?”

“Let’s just say the Auror department is. . .closer to Dumbledore than the Minister,” Snape chose his words carefully.

Dagmar breathed a little easier with that. She couldn’t deny she had been a little nervous to potentially leave Dumbledore’s umbrella of influence. That it may have expanded to cover Malfoy Manor was a great relief.

“Could you let us know, then, what Dumbledore says?” Draco asked. “If we can’t go to my place, we don’t really have anywhere else. We’d have to make different arrangements.”

“May I make a suggestion if you’re ultimately able to return to Malfoy Manor?”

“Er, sure.” Draco nodded jerkily.

“Your house elves were asked about your mother’s whereabouts, but their magical restrictions made it impossible for them to answer. They would tell you what they know, if anything.”

“I didn’t think of that.” Draco looked at Dagmar. “Okay, I will.”

“I needn’t remind you it’s your decision what to do with that information,” Snape replied. “If something meaningful comes of it that is beyond your resources to look into, those might also be arrangeable, should you choose.”

“Okay.”

They left with that. Normally, after all the suggestions this year—all the solicitations—Dagmar would’ve been severely annoyed to once again be approached. She couldn’t deny now it felt good to know that somebody was keeping an eye out for them.

Draco looked in deep thought as well, as he tackled the latest Transfiguration assignment in the library. As much as Dagmar wanted to encourage him to concentrate, since neither of them had done well for it in the last week, she ripped off a piece of parchment to write him a note: _We don’t really have anyone left to protect now, do we?_

Lips pressed, Draco studied the note at length before dashing off a quick response: _No._

_Obviously I’m not saying we should do anything, but if they could help with your mum I would swallow my pride._

_Yeah._

Dagmar left it at that. She didn’t want to push Draco like everyone else had, and she wasn’t even sure if she wanted it for herself. Dagmar and Draco had done well, staying out of everything thus far. How long was it really feasible, though? Maybe if Narcissa hadn’t vanished, it would seem less tempting.

Still, Dagmar was heartened by Professor Snape’s suggestion to talk to the house elves. If Narcissa had left any kind of message for Draco that she didn’t want anyone but him to receive, that would be the way to do it. Dagmar hoped that Dumbledore would be able to arrange for them to go to Malfoy Manor.

There was plenty else to think about in the meantime. Classes winding down for NEWT students ended up meaning they ramped up on homework, to ensure everything was covered in time for review. Dagmar doubted it was unintentional that every professor have something due on the last block for each class before holidays, and they probably all intended to assign something over them as well.

Dagmar sent an owl off to her uncle Håkon, which ended up being the hardest one to write just because she wasn’t very familiar with him. With everything else Dagmar had to do over the Easter holidays, she doubted she would have either the time or energy to make a special trip up to Oslo. She told Uncle Håkon that she and her boyfriend had plans to move to Norway at the end of June, provided their employment inquiries panned out. She would love to see everyone again sometime around then, if that was all right.

A note came from Professor Snape before dinner on Friday that Dagmar and Draco would be able to go to Malfoy Manor for the Easter holidays. While a relief, it also came with nerves. Dagmar didn’t feel quite as resistant to returning there as her own manor, considering that was where her father had died, but it still came with its own baggage. They hadn’t left it on good terms back in August, and Dagmar feared going back would really bring Narcissa’s disappearance home for Draco. He seemed to be of the same mind as he and Dagmar headed to the owlery Saturday morning with their responses to their parents’ advocates.

Dagmar squeezed his hand. “All right?”

Draco shrugged. “Nervous, I guess. I’m terrified what the house elves might have to say.”

“Me too.” Maybe agreeing didn’t help Draco feel any better, but Dagmar would rather validate his feelings than dismiss them. “Passive as we’ve been about everything to do with our parents this year, I myself won’t be if they can give us any kind of lead.”

“I’ve been thinking about that,” Draco replied. “If there’s something I can do, I want to look for her. Snape said Dumbledore might have resources. I’d be curious to know what they are.”

“We’ll talk to the house elves and go from there,” Dagmar said. “We should know probably not long after Easter where we stand with Olaf Kyrre and Jotunheimen.”

“I haven’t even had much of a chance to think about that in all this.”

Dagmar studied him. “Are you thinking it might not happen now?”

“Oh—no, that’s not what I meant. Our cut from Britain might not be as clean as we hoped, is all.”

Dagmar nodded. She certainly didn’t want to derail what they’d worked so long and hard for, but she understood that with everything thrown up in the air right now, concessions might have to be made.

“You can be honest if you’re not sure,” Dagmar told him as they reached the owlery. Ulysses flew down right away to see Draco, as did Mímir to Dagmar. She stroked his head mindlessly. “If it was a matter of life and death for your mum, there’s no choice to make there.”

Draco pressed his lips together while he thought. “Thing is, we still don’t even know if Norway is a sure thing because we haven’t gotten job offers. We’ve been planning everything around it, so it’s easy to feel like we have something we might have to give up if things keep changing. The only thing I _do_ know is that I won’t go separate ways from you, no matter what, if that’s something you’re worried about.”

“I’m not so worried about that, since I think our priorities line up. I mean. . .your mum’s the only thing close to a parent I have left.”

“ _Are_ you worried we might have to give up Norway, though?” Draco asked. “It’s okay if you are. It’s all we’ve been aiming for, for nearly a year. We didn’t expect anything should get in our way that we couldn’t control or work for.”

Dagmar shrugged. “Our credentials aren’t going anywhere, and it’s not like the fields change all that much with time. If we can get there eventually, I’d be okay with that. Jobs come and go, people don’t. I’d never forgive myself if something happened to your mum. I don’t think you’d forgive me either.”

“I don’t want to hold you back.”

“You’re not,” Dagmar reassured him. “Getting on as a Healer isn’t a once in a lifetime opportunity. It’s just a job. Norway is just a place. I’m open to it not being in our immediate future, and I won’t hold it against you if we end up not going right away.”

“Let’s just see how things go.” Draco scratched Ulysses’ head one more time before grabbing some string to attach his letter to Mr. Clayton. “There are way too many things up in the air for us to plan any which way, at the moment. It does relieve me that you’re open to different avenues. I don’t want to lose you too, somehow.”

Dagmar sent Mímir off with her reply to Fru Dyrdahl, and had beckoned a school owl over for the trip to Mrs. Keene in London. She attached it quickly so that she could return her focus to Draco. He was gazing at the floor, his mouth working, and he looked so tired all of a sudden.

“We already made this promise to each other,” Dagmar said as she rubbed his forearm. “As soon as we both agreed to go forward with the arrangements our parents made, we’ve been committed. Maybe the arrangement doesn’t really matter anymore. We left our parents at the end of summer, and you could argue that from then on we were only doing things for ourselves. It’s never changed anything for me, though. You’ll be my husband someday. We’ve been tested before. We’ll get through this too.”

Draco’s expression softened and, although he hadn’t been shy about letting his emotions boil up, he still fought it in such a public area of the castle.

“Okay,” he managed.

Dagmar turned him more to face her by a gentle hand on his cheek. Tension seemed to deflate from his body like air from a balloon as she took his lips with hers. It had a similar effect on Dagmar, grounding her in some form of certainty. She could give up anything else for a while, but she could never give up Draco. Dagmar trusted him enough to know that, if she _did_ have to forego something she’d wanted, Draco would do everything in his power to make sure she got it eventually. This wasn’t just her life anymore, it was theirs. There would be sacrifices, but the victories could be shared.

Footsteps trailed into the owlery. Dagmar and Draco weren’t quick enough separating to avoid hearing a soft, embarrassed, “Oh.”

Dagmar’s stomach dropped a little to see Hermione standing there. She and Draco gravitated apart. “Er. . .hei.”

“Sorry,” Hermione said. “I saw you heading this way with letters. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“Did you want something?”

“Well, I was hoping to talk to you.” Hermione cast a hesitant glance in Draco’s direction.

Dagmar touched Draco’s arm and switched back briefly to Norwegian. “I’ll catch up to you.”

“Upstairs?”

Dagmar smiled. “Sure.”

With a nod, he headed for the exit. Hermione moved to the side to give him more than enough space to pass. Dagmar’s nerves bubbled up to be without some kind of buffer.

Hermione gravitated closer, just as awkward. She seemed more interested in the owls than what she’d actually come for.

“You’re probably sick of hearing this by now, but I’m sorry about your dad,” she said. “And your mum. It’s awful about both of them.”

Dagmar nodded, suddenly fascinated by a loose thread on her shirt hem. She couldn’t help but feel embarrassed to be exposed as someone that had previously protected Death Eaters, regardless of motivation.

“Snape said you know about the meetings that go on, so I want to tell you Dumbledore told us not to approach you and Malfoy right now about anything to do with that,” Hermione told her. “Er—just full disclosure. I didn’t want to talk to you as a member of the Order, though. I want to talk to you as your friend. I miss you.”

Dagmar’s vision blurred with little warning, as it was wont to do these days. She held it in her throat and pushed it back with a swallow.

“I miss you too, and I’m so sorry.” Dagmar tried to suppress a tremble in her voice, but failed. “I don’t really know what to say other than that. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t think you have anything to apologize for,” Hermione said. “You were in an impossible position, one you never chose. I could’ve been more sensitive about it. I’m the one that should be sorry.”

“I was so ashamed.” Dagmar wiped the corner of her eye. “I never wanted it. I knew what the outcome would be for them, either death or Azkaban. I appreciate that you tried to offer them something else.”

Hermione rubbed her back. “I wish it had gone way differently.”

“Me too. I don’t know why they couldn’t just. . .”

Even though Hermione came to Dagmar as a friend rather than on Potter or Dumbledore’s behalf, given the circumstances, it was practically impossible they not discuss the situation at hand. Dagmar’s interest in it was malleable, especially now with Narcissa as new motivation. Dagmar just didn’t know how much she could say without Draco there. She didn’t want to speak for him.

“If you ever want to talk about it, I’m here,” Hermione said. “I won’t ask you any questions. I think we’ve all bothered you enough this year. I agree with Dumbledore that your grief needs to be respected. It needs time.”

“That’s kind of you,” Dagmar replied. “We still don’t know why things went the way they did, which is more frustrating than ever. Now with Narcissa gone, I don’t know what we’re going to do. Snape suggested asking the Malfoy house elves, so I guess that’s the best place to start.”

“We want to find her too.” Hermione lowered her voice with a glance back at the owlery entrance. “It’s not conditional on you and Malfoy doing anything, or joining us, or whatever. Mrs. Malfoy wasn’t like Lucius, according to Snape. She wasn’t a Death Eater.”

“Nei,” Dagmar confirmed with a sniffle. “She—well, I got on really well with her. She means the world to Draco too, so it’s been hard watching him miss her.”

“I bet.”

Dagmar pressed her lips together. “There’s a lot that’s uncertain right now. Draco and I are trying to figure out if all this happening means we’ll even be going to Norway. Time will tell, I guess. It depends on his mum. We might not even get the jobs we wanted. It feels pointless to plan anything, even if we’ve worked our arses off for it.”

Hermione nodded.

“We might be in touch after Easter,” Dagmar said. “Things should be more certain after that.”

“Whatever works best for you.”

Dagmar appreciated that Hermione didn’t push it, even if it was clear she burst at the brim. When they went their separate ways, Dagmar felt a little better.

Draco looked at her with eyebrows raised from curiosity when he let her into the Room of Requirement. “What was that about?”

“She just wanted to check on me,” Dagmar replied. “She said she was sorry about the last time we spoke.”

“That’s it?”

“She wanted to ask more, I could tell,” Dagmar said. “She held back.”

“Impressive.”

Dagmar snorted. For at least now, she could appreciate what few things were set in some form of place. It felt good to be back on speaking terms with Hermione. When they made it back to Malfoy Manor, she and Draco might have some answers. They would then have the entire holiday to decide where to go from there.

“I told her we might be in touch.” Dagmar took Draco’s hands loosely in hers. “She said they’re all looking for your mum too. We won’t be alone on it.”

“That’s nice to know.” It did seem to cool Draco’s perennial state of tension. “I wonder why.”

“Probably for the same reasons they were trying to talk to mine,” Dagmar said. “Your mum might have helpful information that could get Potter and Dumbledore close to Voldemort. Then we could all be free.”


	28. Return to Malfoy Manor

Draco put his head down for the last week of classes before holidays. He didn’t have much choice. The amount of homework he needed to hand in on Thursday and Friday was a challenge to get through. Of course, every professor (except Hagrid, bless him) assigned something else for them to work on while they were gone.

Everyone in Draco’s dorm packed a full trunk, thanks to it. Draco was just finishing up when a note fluttered in for him. His stomach sank to see Snape’s writing, since it never seemed to bode well.

_Mr. Malfoy,_

_If you are interested, the Headmaster has offered you an alternative route to London other than the train. The fireplace in his office is attached to one close enough to Malfoy Manor that you should be able to apparate from there. Let me know if you care to accept._

_I have sent a similar note to Ms. Ramstad._

_Professor Snape_

“Aw, lucky,” Theo said when Draco summed it up for them. “I’d way rather go by floo than sit on the train all day.”

Draco just shrugged. It was certainly a relief he might not have to put up with stares and whispers where he couldn’t escape from them. Draco was just trying to figure out how to fit all the textbooks he needed into his trunk when a knock sounded at the dorm door.

Dagmar stood there. She smiled at him. “Could I borrow you for a minute?”

Theo made a low _‘oooh’_ sound as Draco headed for the exit. Draco rolled his eyes.

“What’s up with him?” Dagmar asked out in the hall.

“Being thick because he’s in a good mood, is my best guess.” Draco leaned his shoulder on the wall, arms folded. “You’re here about Snape’s note?”

Dagmar nodded. “I’d like to take the offer if you want to. The idea of sitting on the train all day was not an appealing one to me.”

“Me neither. I’ll write Snape back, or. . .?”

“I can.” Dagmar ran an affectionate hand down his arm. “You’re still packing?”

“Just finishing.”

Draco’s cycle of nerves came back around to the start as he finally got his trunk to close. Dinner was delicious that evening in the Great Hall, a traditional spread of baked ham, spring lamb, scalloped potatoes, hot cross buns, and a bunch of other things Draco couldn’t manage to fit on his plate. He saved room for dessert, but ended up losing his appetite a little when chocolate eggs and jam tarts materialized in front of him. They were his mum’s favourites.

Everyone else had to leave in the morning to make the train by eleven. Draco and Dagmar walked with their friends as far as the carriages before heading back into the castle. Their trunks levitated in front of them as they carried them up from the dungeons. A note they’d each received from Dumbledore included the password. He invited them in when they reached the top of the stairs and knocked on his door.

“Good morning,” Dumbledore greeted them with.

“Morning,” Dagmar replied. Draco’s tongue was feeling a bit too heavy for use at the moment.

“Kingsley Shacklebolt will meet you on the other end and escort you to Malfoy Manor,” Dumbledore said. “The location is Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place.”

Draco nodded jerkily and stepped up to the fireplace. Dumbledore turned the flames from orange to emerald. Draco was at least used to the long trip south, having taken far longer ones before. He stepped out when a parlour appeared with Kingsley Shacklebolt.

Kingsley pushed off from where he leaned on the furniture. He extended a hand. “Good to finally formally meet.”

“Mhm.” Draco unstuck his tongue. “Dagmar shouldn’t be long.”

She came through a moment later, flattening the flyaway hairs from her plait. She at least managed a smile, however tight, while taking Kingsley’s hand.

“There’s no point lingering,” Kingsley told them. “We’ll reconvene in the great room at Malfoy Manor?”

Draco nodded stiffly, trying to let go of all his fear and dread to focus solely on his home. He felt himself slip out of place and manifest elsewhere. He was standing in front of his manor house’s fireplace when he opened his eyes again.

Kingsley was already there. Dagmar appeared with a pop beside Draco.

“There aren’t any Aurors inside the manor house, just so you know.” Kingsley slipped his hands into his pockets. “They’re stationed around the perimeter. If anyone unexpected should arrive and trip the alarms set in place, they’ll only come inside then.”

“We’re expecting a couple visitors on Monday,” Draco said. “Our parents’ estate advocates are coming by.”

“If you give me their names, I’ll arrange an escort.”

Kingsley took them down and headed out the double doors leading to the terrace. Draco looked over at Dagmar when she touched his hand.

“We might as well talk to the house elves if you just want to get on with it,” she said.

“Yeah.”

They left their trunks for the time being and passed through the dining room into the kitchen. There was no noise inside, nor any of the house elves in sight.

“Hello?” Draco called.

A floppy-eared head popped out of the curtained opening by the ice box. The house elf, Carpy, beamed.

“Young Master Malfoy!” she squeaked in greeting. “What a pleasures to be seeing you again!”

She came out into the kitchen, followed by the other two, Sooky and Tibby. Their enthusiasm to see Draco managed to pull a tight smile out of him, although he was perturbed at Tibby’s twitchy demeanour. She looked like she was in pain.

“Oh, I’s sorry!” She deeply bowed. “Tibby didn’ts mean to upsets Young Master! She will goes.”

“Wait,” Draco told her. “What happened?”

Tibby looked a little distressed at the question. Sooky rubbed her hands together beside her and answered instead. “Bellatrix got very, very mad at Tibby.”

Draco’s heart was squeezed. “Aunt Bella was here? When?”

“The nights that the Master and the Mistress left.” Carpy’s huge eyes filled with tears. “Is it trues that the Master isn’t coming back?”

“He probably won’t be.” Draco took a seat at the kitchen island, Dagmar following suit. “He’s in a lot of trouble.”

It wasn’t a good thing to say, even if it was the truth. All three house elves devolved into loud howls. Draco looked at Dagmar, unsure how to even respond.

Sooky wiped her eyes on the piece of cloth she wore. “Whats about the Mistress?”

“I’m not sure,” Draco answered. “I was hoping maybe you three would know something about where she went. Did she leave with Aunt Bella?”

Carpy shook her head so hard her ears flapped. “She lefts before Bellatrix came. Bellatrix was lookings for her, yelling all overs the manor house and getting madder and madder because the Mistress wasn’ts answering.”

Tibby came around the island and fished inside the teacloth she wore. From seemingly nowhere, an envelope appeared.

“The Mistress gaves Tibby this at Christmas for safekeepings.” Tibby held it up to Draco. “She saids to hold it until the Young Master cames home.”

Draco snatched it a little too eagerly out of Tibby’s hands. Anyone but a house elf would’ve considered it rude. He made to apologize, but Tibby was in the midst of bowing with a big grin on her face. Draco’s mum’s familiar handwriting spelled out his name on the front. He pulled it open with trembling hands.

_Draco,_

_First of all, I want to deeply apologize for any worry I may have caused. I couldn’t think of a way to get the things in this letter to you without risking them being intercepted. Your father may or may not have explained things properly enough for you to know I’m not in any danger. I don’t believe my leaving will have come as a complete shock to him, considering how things have been between him and I._

_Please don’t blame yourself. I realized this summer that leaving your father was likely inevitable. You were gradually distancing yourself, while your father sunk in deeper with the Dark Lord. Hildegard knew Dagmar had no sympathies with the Dark Lord. She “warned” me that putting you with her may lead you away. I’m so relieved she was right, which I believe was also her motivation in making the change. We never actually explicitly discussed it in those terms._

_I had hoped that with you drifting, it may inspire your father to do the same. Unfortunately, I fear that he may have gone beyond the point for it to be possible. It put me into a position where I was forced to choose, and of course I chose my child. One day I hope your father realizes all that he’s lost and finds a way to join us. I also hope that by then I will find it in myself to forgive how he treated you right before you left for school. It broke my heart to receive that letter from Severus regarding your eye. I’m deeply sorry things ever went that far._

_Leaving a Death Eater like this is no simple task. I was forced to go without warning and with only a vague idea of where I would wind up. Don’t worry about me. I am more than capable of taking care of myself. I will reach out to you and Dagmar as soon as it’s safe. Until then, I love you more than anything. You’re the light of my life, and the thought of you keeps me going. I can’t wait to see you again._

_Love,  
_ _Mum_

_Ps. Whenever you get a chance, speak to Mr. Clayton at Tellery’s in Diagon Alley. I had to make some changes to my will for while I’m gone._

Dagmar’s head rested on Draco’s shoulder by the time he’d read through to the end. The letter left Draco numb, which was at least better than the dread that had plagued him for the past few weeks. He never imagined he’d be so relieved by news that his parents were splitting up.

“So. . .” Dagmar said after both of them had read it through a couple times. “Was the timing just coincidence then?”

“Maybe.” Draco looked over at the house elves. “What happened, the last night you saw my parents?”

“Theys was having dinner,” Sooky squeaked. “Thens the Master’s arm burned. He left, and thens the Mistress went ups to her room. Bellatrix cames later looking for the Mistress, and we tolds Bellatrix she was upstairs, but the Mistress was gones. Bellatrix looked everywheres in the manor house and then she gots mad at Tibby for lying—”

“I didn’ts lie!”

“She thoughts you did,” Sooky said. “We didn’ts know where the Mistress went.”

“What did Bellatrix do then?”

“She lefts.”

Draco idly nodded as he glanced over his mum’s letter again. He couldn’t help but wonder what Aunt Bella had wanted with her after what happened at Ramstad Manor.

“My parents haven’t been getting along?” Draco asked.

The three house elves looked uneasily at each other.

Carpy leaned up on the island, her eyes and fingers visible over the edge. She dropped her voice to a whisper. “There has beens many fights. A lots of the time, they just didn’t speaks to each other. The Mistress moved into her owns room across the hall. It has nots been so nice.”

Under any other circumstances, the dissolution of his parents’ marriage would’ve devastated Draco. They’d always had a good one, as far as he could tell. His father had followed the same advice as Draco did to make his relationship with Dagmar so strong. To see it end was certainly sad, but considering his father went to Azkaban, it was pretty much going to end anyway.

“Woulds the Young Master and the Young Lady like somethings to eat?”

“Sure,” Draco agreed. He hadn’t yet today, for lack of appetite. As things cleared up, it was beginning to return. “Whatever you feel like making.”

The three house elves happily set on the task. Dagmar slipped off her stool so that she could give Draco a proper hug. He rubbed her back, similarly awash with relief.

“That’s all right then, right?” Dagmar said when she returned to her seat. “Your mum’s a capable witch. I’m sure she’ll be just fine.”

“It doesn’t make me miss her any less at the moment, but there’s something to look forward to.” Draco let out a long breath. “I wonder what she meant about the post-script with Mr. Clayton.”

“To me that sounds like she had no idea what your father was called away for.” Dagmar paused, lips pressed. “Do you think she’s heard?”

“Don’t know, but I imagine she’d find out on her own time, if she hasn’t by now.”

With fear for his mother’s safety off his mind, Draco had room for a wave of lighter emotion to flood him. He looked again at the letter, specifically the part about him and Dagmar. Draco slipped his hand into hers, more appreciative than ever that they were here together. Dagmar’s gaze was similarly soft when hers met Draco’s, her lips gradually growing into a warm smile.

She leaned over to kiss his cheek, staying close to nuzzle him. Her touch felt slightly electric, no matter how subtle, while they ate lunch. Sex had changed in the past few weeks and felt like it might yet again. Rather than trying to slash through the numbness to feel something other than sad for a little while, Draco felt the yearning to engage with Dagmar in a more innocent way. He was pretty sure he could feel it just as much in her as they headed upstairs after eating. It was confirmed in the way Dagmar melted into Draco behind his closed bedroom door.

Dagmar curled up against him afterward underneath the blanket. Draco couldn’t remember the last time he’d actually felt this calm.

“Thank god for your mum,” Dagmar said as she nuzzled his shoulder. “I can’t imagine not having this.”

Draco chuckled. “I used to hate how sometimes she saw right through me on something. I’ll definitely forgive this one.”

Dagmar turned his chin for a kiss. “We should wait until she’s back to get married.”

“Yeah,” Draco easily agreed. “I want her there.”

* * *

Malfoy Manor was painfully empty without Narcissa or Mr. Malfoy’s quiet presences. Other than the dining room, Dagmar and Draco didn’t spend much time in the space between Draco’s room and the back terrace. The gardens were just starting to bloom. Dagmar couldn’t think of a better place to cozy up with Draco in one of his jumpers that she’d borrowed. Even though the holidays had just begun, she wanted to try and get as much of the homework out of the way as possible before Monday. She didn’t know what kind of mindset she would be in afterward.

Dagmar woke up early Monday morning so that she could get ready for when Mr. Clayton and Mrs. Keene would arrive. Draco crawled out of bed at eight, bleary-eyed from already falling into the habit of sleeping in. The two of them lingered in the foyer, close to nine.

Voices came from behind the door before a knock. Draco opened it to reveal Kingsley along with Mr. Clayton, who Dagmar had never seen before, and Mrs. Keene, who she now remembered more clearly. Her dark hair made it clear she hadn’t been at the advocate office for as long as Mr. Clayton. He himself had long gone bald up top, spare a few stray hairs that he’d locked down with a slicked comb.

“All yours.” Kingsley winked at Dagmar and Draco before heading back off the portico.

“Good to see you again.” Dagmar held a hand out to Mrs. Keene, who shook it solemnly with both hands.

“Yes,” Mrs. Keene replied in a sharp, clear voice. “Such a shame it should be under these circumstances. How are you holding up?”

The question had a more adverse effect on Dagmar than she expected. She wiped carefully at her eyes to avoid messing up her makeup.

“Sorry,” she told Mrs. Keene with an airy laugh. “It comes and goes, you know. I don’t have much control over it.”

“Of course, my dear.” Mrs. Keene squeezed her shoulder. “If you’d like, we can get right down to business. Then we can be out of your hair.”

“Could I offer you some tea?” Draco said to them both. “Come through to the dining room. If it’s all right with you, we thought we could just do it all together.”

“However you wish.” Mr. Clayton adjusted the thick bag he carried. “Cheers to the tea.”

Sooky was more than pleased to get started on that. After she disappeared into the kitchen, Dagmar took a seat beside Draco on one side of the table. Mrs. Keene and Mr. Clayton both unpacked their bags. They were laden with files, equally thick with sheets of parchment.

“Who would like to go first?” Mr. Clayton asked.

“I guess I could,” Draco replied. “My mum left me a letter that said I ought to contact you. I don’t know if it was a separate matter from when you suggested we meet.”

“Not entirely.” Mr. Clayton took his seat. “I’m glad you were given that letter first, so that I don’t have to explain to you the context of her absence. Your mother came to see me shortly before Christmas. She informed me she was planning to leave your father, and that she needed to make some amendments to how her affairs would be handled in the event. For the most part, nothing changed. She and your father had combined finances, so essentially everything would have remained in his name should other circumstances not have occurred. Since your father is currently in Azkaban, he will not be able to handle the estate. He had chosen Narcissa as his preferred power of attorney. Your mother put _you_ down as hers, should your father be unavailable.”

“So. . .” Draco furrowed his brow. “What exactly does that mean?”

“As power of attorney, you essentially have control of the estate, as overseen by me,” Mr. Clayton explained. “You have signing authority and access to funds and assets on behalf of its proprietors—your parents. I want to make it very clear that this doesn’t mean it all belongs to you to do with as you wish. It’s not an inheritance or anything of the sort. Once your mother returns, it’s null and void. She will reassume her rightful control.”

“Okay.” Draco leaned forward on the table, jaw in his hand. “I don’t really know how to handle all of it, though. My parents never talked to me about their business or what all they even have. I assumed that would happen as I got older.”

“That’s where I stay relevant.” Mr. Clayton smiled at him. “Your parents pay me to keep track of it all. I’m quite versed in everything, and I am more than capable of doing most things on your behalf. Of course, it’s up to you if you’d rather learn the ropes and do it all yourself. I would recommend you don’t try to do that while also finishing your last few months at Hogwarts.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“I have some things you’ll need to sign.” Mr. Clayton picked up one of the piles of parchment. “This should set everything into place.”

Draco accepted a quill from Mr. Clayton and went through each of the sheets. The first was from Tellery’s office, authorizing Draco to make changes within on behalf of the estate. The next few were from Gringotts. Dagmar became very interested in her tea out of respect when she started seeing bank accounts with balances listed in the six-figure galleon range. One was the deed to Malfoy Manor. The last that Dagmar really recognized was from Azkaban, stipulating Draco as next-of-kin and key contact for his father.

When Draco was done signing, Mr. Clayton looked through it all.

“I believe that should all be in order, then,” he said. “I’ll just make triple-sure, if you want to go ahead, Enid.”

“All right.” Mrs. Keene cast a warm smile at Dagmar. “Your parents set up something similar with you, but of course things are a little different with your father’s passing. All of the family assets went automatically into your mother’s name. She has no access to any of it either while in Azkaban, which is where you come in. The big difference between you and Draco is that if your mother is indeed destined to serve a life-sentence, your position as power of attorney is much more permanent.”

Dagmar signed a pile of parchment similar to Draco’s. She was a little overwhelmed by the size of the bank accounts. It reminded Dagmar of when she’d received her first entitlement payout on her birthday. Becoming wealthy was an entirely different beast, though, from just feeling rich.

Mrs. Keene held one piece of parchment back for when Dagmar was done.

“This one details the release of your father’s ashes,” Mrs. Keene said. “Once it’s signed, they’re yours. Your father had a final wish for some of his ashes to be spread in certain places, so there are some set aside for that. The rest are in his urn.”

Dagmar nodded, throat tight again. “And how do I get all that?”

“I’ll let North Cove in Diagon Alley know to contact you. They’ve been holding onto them. They’ll set up a time and date you could come by.”

Dagmar wasn’t sure if she’d be allowed. Even talking to Kingsley in passing about going to the Zabini home for Easter came with mention of an escort. “Okay. I’ll figure it out.”

That seemed to at least conclude the paperwork part of this visit. Mrs. Keene tidied up her things a little, putting away everything that Dagmar had signed.

“I understand this may be a sensitive topic, but it bears discussing,” Mr. Clayton moved them on. He lightly braced his teacup in both hands, his thumb running idly over the handle. “What kind of relationship are you looking for regarding your father, Draco, and your mother, Dagmar, if I may speak on behalf of Enid?” He glanced at her and she nodded. “We’ll be able to arrange that level of contact. If you would like to visit them, we can put in a request with the Auror office. If you would rather send letters, that is also an option. If you don’t want contact at all, your parents can just go through us if they need anything.”

“I haven’t really thought about it,” Dagmar said. “My mum and I honestly didn’t have much of a relationship when she went in. Is she doing okay, or. . .?”

Mrs. Keene looked uncomfortable at the question. “She’s. . .well, there’s no easy way to say it. I don’t think going in right after witnessing her husband die was good for her.”

Dagmar felt hollow as she nodded. “How bad is she?”

“She’s had to be sedated,” Mrs. Keene replied. “She, ah. . .took an attempt on her life.”

Dagmar’s chin hardly moved up and down with her next nod. Her heart hurt not much less than when she’d first learned her parents joined Voldemort. As angry she was at her mum and as much as Dagmar believed her mum had brought this all on herself, it still saddened her that the rest of her mum’s life would be spent wishing to join her husband and wondering why her child never visited. Dagmar didn’t think she would be able to see her mum in that condition. Maybe it was selfish, but Dagmar wanted her last memory of her mum to be when she’d said goodbye to her before she left for Hogwarts. In a way, they’d already spoken their last farewell to each other. There was no need to drag it on.

Lucius wasn’t in as bad of shape besides shock, according to Mr. Clayton. Draco was open to updates about his father, but not contact at this time. It was shortly after ten-thirty when Dagmar and Draco saw Mr. Clayton and Mrs. Keene to the front door. For the less-than-two hours they hosted them, Dagmar felt more exhausted than after spending an entire day working on homework.

She headed up from the foyer to Draco’s room. He followed, falling immediately onto the bed with a heavy sigh. Dagmar joined him after changing into more comfortable clothes. Draco ran his fingernails lightly over Dagmar’s scalp and kissed her forehead after she settled.

“Guess we have to talk about money again,” she mumbled.

“I’m not planning on touching any of it,” Draco said. “I’ve barely used my own all year, and that account is more than sufficient. Plus, we’re going to be on salary in a couple months.”

“That’s pretty much what I’m thinking too.” Dagmar exhaled. “I don’t know what to do about the manor house. I don’t feel ready yet to go through everything.”

“Then don’t,” Draco gently told her. “There’s no rush. Do it all in your own time. Even if we have to make a couple special trips back from Bergen, it’ll eventually get done.”

As the two of them rested up from their morning, dread seeped back into Dagmar as she thought about her manor house. She’d gone straight back to classes after her dad died and felt better for it. Everything had been built up in her mind, and then it all wound up going much smoother than she expected. The same was probably true about going home. The longer Dagmar avoided it, the harder it would be to go.

Dagmar picked at the shepherd’s pie Tibby had made them for lunch. “Thoughts on going to my manor this afternoon?”

Draco slowed in chewing. “You said you weren’t ready.”

“Nei,” Dagmar sighed, “but I’d rather just get it over with. I’ve already built it up in my mind, and that’s not going to get any better with time. Plus, once I get everything I need, then I won’t have to go back for a while if I don’t want to.”

“We’ll come right back if it’s too much.”

Dagmar nodded. Nerves made it all the harder to eat, so she ended up asking Tibby to save it for her for later. It took a while for her and Draco to find one of the Aurors on the property. Once they did, the Auror okayed them to go through the fireplace after giving the crew at Ramstad Manor a heads up to expect them. Interior investigations had at least concluded, and the house elves were given the go-ahead to put everything back together. The Auror told Dagmar to expect it shouldn’t look any different than normal.

Nausea gripped Dagmar’s throat as she stepped into the fireplace. She hadn’t wanted the detail of where exactly her dad had died. Now Dagmar slightly wished that she knew. It could be anywhere. As she stepped out into the great room, she felt it everywhere in the manor house’s cool, silent air.

Draco stepped out behind her and touched her back. “Is everything up in your room?”

“Most of it.”

Dagmar appreciated the nudge forward. Draco guided her with a hand between her shoulder blades toward the foyer and upstairs from there. Dagmar’s hands trembled as she let them into her bedroom.

It hadn’t changed since she was last here, although had been at least dusted and whatnot by the house elves. Dagmar always hated the feeling of it coming back from school during holidays, as if it had only been occupied by ghosts in the meantime. As Dagmar looked around, she was certainly seeing a lot of those.

“We could start with the closet?” Draco suggested.

“Ja, that’s probably the easiest.”

Dagmar had a lot of clothes, but they were definitely the least strenuous to go through. She brought them out in armfuls to her bed and dumped them on the side opposite where Draco sat. There were a couple things Dagmar found that she’d wanted to take to Hogwarts with her for weekends, but couldn’t make fit. She couldn’t resist slipping them on to show Draco. Whether he really cared or not, his smile was warm as Dagmar cheered herself up by it. Her heart started to ache soon enough at all the memories of doing this with her mum, but they were nicer things to associate with her than her new life in Azkaban.

“Maybe we don’t really need to bring all this back to your place,” Dagmar mused as her clothing pile created a mountain on the bed. “I could at least get it ready to pick up for when we leave to Bergen.”

“Could even send it ahead once we get our job offers,” Draco suggested. He’d moved from a seated position to laying down with his fingers folded behind his head.

“I wonder if Fru Dyrdahl would hold onto it for me,” Dagmar said. “Then again, I don’t know how I’d get it all to her while I’m back at Hogwarts.”

“Just wait, then. We’ll take what we need when we move and come back for the rest gradually.”

Dagmar sat down between his hip and the side of the bed. “We’re okay then to move forward with Norway?”

“I don’t see why not.” Draco rested a hand on her thigh. “Maybe if we’re far away from here, Mum would think she could come back sooner.”

Dagmar rested her hand on Draco’s and ran her thumb over the knuckles. More than being certain about Norway, Dagmar was just glad for their future to stabilize a bit. Feeling lighter than she had in days, she laid down beside Draco.

A chuckle from him broke their kiss as Dagmar ran a hand up underneath the front of his shirt. “What’s this about, then?”

“Feel like I could use a little break, if you’re up to it.”


	29. The Order

Rather than go through everything at Ramstad Manor all at once, Draco suggested Dagmar just do a little bit each day. She was more than fine while in her room, which Draco could empathize with. It was easy to forget about the rest of the manor house while in your own space. Dagmar had held onto all the letters Draco sent her from before they got their messengers. Her grin was big as she reread a few, which made up for misty eyes as she went through her jewelry.

She’d come across the bracelet Draco’s mum gave her for her birthday. “I was so sad I’d left it here. If I’d known how we would leave your place later, I would’ve taken it.”

“You have it now,” Draco reassured her as they sat together on the edge of the bed. “It doesn’t matter.”

What did, though, was the connotations of how they’d left. It had been so long since Draco and Dagmar talked about what happened in the graveyard that Draco forgot the details.

“Do you think You-Know-Who will still try to recruit us without my mum?” Draco asked.

Dagmar hummed in thought while her mouth worked. “He might. I could see why he’d try. It would be really easy from his perspective to see that the Aurors were directly responsible for what happened to our parents. He might think we want revenge.”

“When you went in with him last summer, did it seem like something he was angling for?”

“He didn’t ask anything about intent to serve, but maybe he was sizing me up with wanting me to show him the Heafonfýr Curse.”

“What exactly did he talk to you about?”

Draco’s question turned Dagmar nervous. She fiddled with her bracelet, gaze stuck to it, and didn’t look up when Draco touched her arm encouragingly.

“He used Legilimency on me,” Dagmar eventually said. “He was digging around in my mind. He saw Marc, that Muggle that I almost hit with the Curse in Nice. Then there was that house I used to always dream of. Erm. . .”

“And?” Draco prompted her.

Dagmar cursed quietly under her breath. “I swore I’d never tell another soul, so you need to keep it yourself.”

“Okay,” Draco agreed, but he couldn’t deny that such a preface made him nervous.

“I lied about what happened to Grim.” Dagmar became incredibly interested in one jewel in particular on her bracelet. “He didn’t wander off. He was sick but just wouldn’t go. He was suffering. I had to do it for him.”

Draco’s heart sunk with pity. “With the Killing Curse, or what?”

Dagmar nodded, mouth down-turned. She wiped an eye. “He deserved to go peacefully. I could tell he understood too, when the time came. Maybe I’m just saying this to make myself feel better, but I think he was relieved it was over.”

Draco rubbed Dagmar’s back. He couldn’t imagine finding the strength to do that for an animal. The very idea of maybe having to for Heimdall if they found him injured beyond help around Christmas had stressed Draco right out.

“That’s what Voldemort saw, anyway.” Dagmar chanced a glance at Draco. “That I’d used the Killing Curse before. I don’t know what he was after with that house either, but I haven’t seen it since.”

“Yeah, you haven’t had nightmares like you used to at all.”

“Nagini said something while I was there,” Dagmar said. “She asked Voldemort if it was true I could understand them.”

Draco’s stomach volleyed downward again. “So your parents must have told him you’re a Parselmouth, then.”

“Must have.” Dagmar shrugged. “That was it. Then we went to the graveyard.”

Draco nodded slowly.

“What’re you thinking?”

“We must be in his sights,” Draco said. “We probably look like prime candidates to replace our parents. It might be inevitable he approaches us, or someone on his behalf like Aunt Bella.”

“Do you think he would come all the way to Norway?”

“Maybe. It’s not that far.”

“What do you think we should do, then?” Dagmar looked at him. “He’s not someone you say no to, and I have no interest in getting involved with all that.”

Draco rolled his bottom lip through his teeth. “Maybe we ought to talk to Dumbledore. I had a thought that if we can’t say no to You-Know-Who, we might have to do like Snape’s done all this time, but I don’t know. It sounds a lot easier said than done. If it’s something we might have to consider, I want to know everything Dumbledore knows. I want _him_ to know it’s not us genuinely becoming Death Eaters.”

“Maybe we’re thinking a little far ahead.” Dagmar turned more to face him. “We should at least talk to Dumbledore about everything we learned about your mum. If they don’t need to be looking for her—if maybe it’s best they don’t—they need to know that. They could focus those resources somewhere else.”

“For sure.” Draco kissed Dagmar’s forehead. “And thanks for trusting me with the other stuff. I can tell it wasn’t easy to.”

“Well. . .” A glimpse of shame returned to Dagmar. “I probably would have sooner if we didn’t have Heimr. I didn’t want you to worry I might hurt him.”

“I don’t. Turns out I was right.” Draco nudged her with his shoulder, smile warm. “You’re more likely to help than harm. I would say you helped Grim. Surely you must agree or you wouldn’t have done it.”

“Ja, it’s just using that curse that puts me on the fence about it.” Dagmar shrugged. “It’s been used to end a lot of human lives. It has its practical uses, but I realize it’s probably taboo with everything going on right now.”

While Draco understood why Dagmar would keep that to herself for so long, he didn’t share in her concern. He wanted to handle beasts when he left Hogwarts, and there would probably come times he needed to put something down. If a dragon broke its spine and wouldn’t survive, would Draco rather let it writhe there in pain until either dehydration, shock, or wild animals got it, or would he put it out of its misery? The answer seemed obvious, as it did with Grim.

Draco and Dagmar were back at Malfoy Manor on Thursday, working on their homework in the garden, when Kingsley came up on the terrace.

“Sorry, you didn’t answer the front door,” he said. “Let’s talk about Sunday. Did you still want to go to the Zabini residence for dinner?”

“If we can,” Draco replied.

“I’ll escort you personally,” Kingsley told them. “I won’t go in with you or anything, just wait outside. Luzia agreed to my office setting up the proper precautions beforehand.”

“Great.” Dagmar smiled. “Thanks. We appreciate that.”

“I also have a question for you, Draco.” Kingsley came up closer, hands in his pockets. “When your mother went missing, word of it reached your aunt Andromeda. She was curious if you were interested in meeting.”

Draco looked at Dagmar, who nudged his foot with her own. “Sure. Just her?”

“Your uncle and cousin too, if you want.”

“Okay.” Because Draco’s mum never talked about her second sister, he actually forgot about her. It was nice to have other family that had thought about him. “Hey, we have a question for you too.”

Kingsley lifted his jaw. “What’s that?”

“We figured out what’s going on with my mum,” Draco said. “We were also thinking maybe we ought to meet with Dumbledore to talk about it? I don’t know what his schedule is like on the holidays.”

“There’s an Order meeting tomorrow, if you’re interested,” Kingsley replied.

Draco looked at Dagmar again, who shrugged. “That means everyone would be there?”

“Pretty much, I think. Dumbledore would meet with you privately, if you’d rather.”

Draco nodded. “I think we would. What time should we be ready?”

“How about noon?”

Draco couldn’t decide where to land on how he felt about it in the meantime. He went through cycles of realizing he and Dagmar had to do what they had to do, and then wondering if this was really the answer. They hadn’t ever been able to offer Potter or Dumbledore anything before, so what use were they now to this Order Kingsley was talking about? Was anything they might have worthy of protection in return?

The two of them were ready early, so Draco paced in the great room while Dagmar tapped her fingers against her thigh where she sat. Finally, a knock came at the manor house door. Kingsley stood on the portico with a witch, maybe in her mid-twenties, that had bright blue, curly hair. She smiled at Draco.

“This is Nymphodora,” Kingsley introduced her. “She prefers to go by Tonks.”

“I’m the aforementioned cousin,” Tonks said brightly with a wink. “Wotcher.”

“Cheers,” Draco replied. He felt a little awkward about meeting his only first-cousin at nearly eighteen years old. It didn’t seem to bother her as much.

“We’ll apparate with you to the street outside the place,” Kingsley told them after Dagmar had greeted Tonks with a wave.

“Okay.”

Draco set a hand on Kingsley’s wrist. The portico vanished in place of a worn down street. It didn’t look like somewhere at all for this sort of meeting. Regardless, Draco pulled up the rear behind Kingsley and Tonks on the front steps. His nerves abated a little when Dagmar’s hand slipped into his.

“Keep quiet once we’re inside,” Kingsley warned Draco and Dagmar. “Just for the foyer.”

Draco, Dagmar, and Kingsley all kept their feet light, but Tonks walked directly into an umbrella stand.

“Tonks!” Kingsley yelled in exasperation. Both of them braced themselves, and then Draco jumped as a set of curtains on the wall flew open to reveal his great-aunt Walburga. Her eyes burned with fury as her gaze swept over the four of them.

“MORE FILTH IN THIS HOUSE!” she screamed, her voice reverberating. “THEY TRACK IT IN LIKE RUBBISH OFF THE STREET! BLOOD-TRAITORS, THE LOT OF YOU! EVEN THE MALFOY NAME HAS BEEN BESMIRCHED! MY POOR NIECE, MARRYING INTO SUCH TRAITOROUS SCUM AS THAT—!”

“A hand, Draco?” Kingsley asked as he tugged on one end of the curtains.

“Oh—sorry.” Draco leapt forward out of his shock.

Dagmar rubbed her ears once Walburga had been covered and silenced. “ _Who_ is that?”

“She used to be the matriarch of this house,” Kingsley explained. “We can’t get the portrait off the wall, so we just have to deal with it.”

“She’s actually gotten quite docile in her old age,” Tonks jested. “See, I told you, we probably should’ve left that stand on the other side. Or just stick it down somewhere else, so Kreacher can’t put it right back.”

“It doesn’t matter except for my ringing ears,” Kingsley replied. “Come down to the kitchen, you two.”

Draco looked around as they went deeper into the house. There were stairs heading up, from where Draco could hear the murmur of voices. He hesitated when they walked by the familiar parlour they’d passed through from Dumbledore’s office the previous weekend. Another set of stairs led down to the kitchen. Even though Draco had never met his aunt Andromeda before, he recognized her immediately as being his mum’s sister. She looked quite strikingly like Aunt Bella, but without the clearly gone mental status.

She caught Draco off-guard with a motherly hug. “How nice to finally meet you. I always heard that Narcissa had a little boy—although I suppose you’re not so little anymore, are you?”

“Not really,” Draco replied with a nervous chuckle.

Andromeda stepped aside so that a man with lighter hair and a bit of a belly could extend a hand. His eyes crinkled as he smiled, and Andromeda ran a hand down his back.

“This is Ted, my husband,” she introduced him.

“Cheers,” Ted said with a hearty shake.

“And this is my girlfriend, Dagmar.” Draco gestured at her.

Dagmar greeted both of them with a shy wave. “Hei.”

Andromeda pulled her into a hug as well. “Oh my dear, I’m sure you’re so tired of hearing this by now, but I’m sorry about your parents. The whole thing is just so unfortunate.”

“Ja,” Dagmar sighed. “Thank you, though.”

Kingsley had slipped out of the room at some point, leaving Draco and Dagmar alone with Tonks, Andromeda, and Ted. It was then that Draco noticed a decrepit looking house elf meandering around the kitchen and pretending to clean. He muttered to himself, “. . .must be the Malfoy boy, Master doesn’t like him, doesn’t trust him, does he have the Dark Mark? My old mistress would like him. . .Narcissa always was her favourite niece, after Bellatrix. . .”

“Oh don’t mind him,” Tonks said with a wave of her hand. “We’ve all just come to accept him as he is, haven’t we, Kreacher?”

Kreacher kept on as if he hadn’t heard her, “. . .blue hair, Mistress always said never trust blue hair. . .”

With a laugh, Tonks scrunched up her face. Her hair grew out lime green from the roots. Dagmar gasped excitedly beside Draco. “You’re a Metamorphmagus!”

“Sure am.”

“Come sit, anyway.” Andromeda touched Draco’s arm before gesturing at the table. “I brought us all lunch.”

“This isn’t your place?” Draco asked.

“Oh—no, no.” Andromeda laughed as she returned to where she’d previously been drinking tea. “No, Aunt Walburga would’ve _never_ left this place to me. It belongs to Harry Potter.”

Draco hesitated halfway down into his seat. “This is _Potter’s_ house?”

“Mhm. Sirius left it to him.”

“Oh.” Draco felt a little uncomfortable. He knew he’d be seeing Potter today with the Order meeting, but didn’t realize he’d be visiting his home.

Kreacher passed the table by as he headed for the exit. He was still muttering, “. . .Mistress always liked Lucius. . .came from a good family. . .”

“I hate to jump topics, but Dora told me that your mum’s come up missing.” Andromeda’s smile slipped away. “What happened? Do you know?”

“Er, yeah. . .”

Telling Andromeda about his mum’s plan to leave his father was slightly embarrassing for Draco, but it was decent practice for when he’d have to explain it to a big group of people who all, at one point, Draco had seen as enemies. Andromeda at least took it as good news, although she wondered aloud why Draco’s mum wouldn’t have come to her (“Too obvious I suppose, or maybe she was too proud when it’s been so long”). With such a heavy topic out of the way, Andromeda and Ted were more apt to ask Draco and Dagmar about their lives, tell them about theirs, and Tonks had plenty of interesting stories from being an Auror. A couple hours wound up enough time for Draco to relax, and it saddened him a little that he’d never had the chance up until now to know them.

“Keep in touch,” Andromeda told him as she hugged him goodbye. “Well, see if you have time, anyway, after getting on as a dragonologist.”

Draco laughed. “I’m sure I’ll find some.”

Tonks followed her parents to see them off, leaving Draco and Dagmar alone in the kitchen. Dagmar pulled Draco into a long hug and rubbed his back with a sigh. “I’m so happy you still have family.”

“Me too.” Draco nuzzled her shoulder.

Andromeda reminded Draco a lot of his mum, which made him miss her all the more. He wondered if his mum ever missed Andromeda or thought about her, since Draco couldn’t imagine his mum felt any less isolated than Draco was starting to realize he had been. It wasn’t as if his mum could surround herself with people like Andromeda while still pretending to be sympathetic with You-Know-Who.

Draco resumed his seat along with Dagmar and started to get nervous again. Lunch with his aunt and uncle had gone swimmingly enough, but he still wasn’t sure how sitting down with Dumbledore would go. Draco couldn’t help but wish that Andromeda and Ted were active Order members so that he’d have someone familiar with all of this to ground him.

Steps sounded again down the kitchen stairs, and Draco looked up as Dumbledore walked in. Draco toyed with his long-empty teacup, unsure if he should refill it. He’d already needed to pee for a while, but didn’t really feel like finding a toilet.

Dumbledore closed the door and smiled. “How are your aunt and uncle doing?”

“Good, sounds like,” Draco replied. “It was nice to finally meet them.”

“And how about you two?” Dumbledore asked as he sat down opposite them. “All right?”

“Ja, all considering.” Dagmar nodded jerkily beside Draco. “It’s certainly been a long week, but it’s gone better than expected.”

“Does that mean you have some good news concerning Narcissa?”

“You could call it that.” Draco opened his jacket to retrieve his mum’s letter from an inside pocket. “It came with a trade-off. My mum had been planning on leaving my father for a while, and that was the night she chose to go. I don’t think she knew what was happening at Ramstad Manor.”

Draco hesitated about handing the letter over. There were other things in it that might be better left private, like the bit about his and Dagmar’s arrangement. Draco fiddled with it instead, relieved that Dumbledore’s hands remained folded in front of him. He made no move to try and take it.

“The house elves gave me this,” Draco continued. “My mum gave it to one of them for safe-keeping before Christmas. The house elves said that my parents were having dinner that evening, my father left because his Dark Mark burned, and then my mum went upstairs. Aunt Bella came by later looking for her, but she was gone by then.”

“Bellatrix must have gone there after fleeing Ramstad Manor,” Dumbledore said. “Does the letter say where your mother went?”

“No, just not to worry about her and that she’ll reach out to me when it’s safe to.”

Dumbledore nodded. “Professor Snape did indeed go looking for her at the beginning of the holiday, but he had no luck. Well, he was looking for her indirectly by seeking out Voldemort, but he’s vanished as well. If Voldemort was using your manors as headquarters for operations, he will have to find somewhere new now.”

“I think if my mum doesn’t want to be found, she won’t be,” Draco replied.

“Probably not.” Dumbledore gave him a warm smile. “If she ends up reaching out to me first, if, say, you happen to have left the country by that time and she cannot locate you, I will let you know immediately.”

The weight of everything unspoken between them was becoming overtly obvious to Draco with mention of him leaving the country. He’d never told Dumbledore that directly. He would have either heard it through Potter or Snape.

Draco hesitated, debating it, then decided to bite the bullet. “Could I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“There’s been times over the year that Potter or Professor Snape have said things that make it sound like we get talked about in the meetings they go to. What’s there to say about us?”

“Oh, plenty.” Draco couldn’t decide if Dumbledore sounding so cheerful about it made him feel better or worse for the answer he got. “Last summer, when Harry turned of-age and was finally old enough to join the Order, we began preparing for how his final year at Hogwarts may change the dynamic of the war. We narrowed down a short list of students to watch in your year that were known to have Death Eaters as parents. There was you two, as well as Theodore, Gregory, and Vincent.

“Since then, we have slowly been gathering information. It didn’t take us terribly long to realize you two had no affiliation with Voldemort. We didn’t think Gregory and Vincent would, given that their fathers defected. Theodore showed no signs toward it either.”

“Potter asked me about them in November,” Draco recalled. “I wasn’t sure he’d believe me.”

“You were essentially confirming what he already knew.” Dumbledore nodded. “The real test Harry intended by asking those questions was to see what level of transparency you were willing to show. You were up-front with that, as well as your plans for the future. You may find it interesting or amusing, perhaps, to learn that Professor Snape told nobody but me your intentions to pursue dragonology.”

Draco couldn’t suppress a smirk. “I imagine Potter didn’t like that.”

“No, so when you told him, it was the first he heard about it,” Dumbledore replied. “With that, we had nowhere else to go with the five names we started with at the beginning of the year. In December, we made contact with some Death Eaters that were willing to give us information in exchange for protection from Voldemort. That was how we confirmed that Erik and Hildegard—” Dumbledore glanced at Dagmar, “—were involved.”

Dagmar’s brow furrowed slightly. “It had to have been Crabbe and Goyle’s dads.”

“What makes you say that?” Dumbledore asked.

“I saw Death Eaters once in a while at my manor,” Dagmar said. “Mr. Malfoy was there a lot. I—maybe Bellatrix, once. When my parents first joined, I saw Mr. Crabbe and Mr. Goyle a couple of times. I don’t think Mr. Malfoy, Rodolphus, or Bellatrix would’ve turned spy. Mr. Malfoy, maybe—” Dagmar ran her thumb over Draco’s hand under the table, “—but considering he’s in Azkaban and not under Order protection. . .”

“You’re right,” Dumbledore conceded with the type of smile he probably would’ve given one of his students back when he still taught. “Hugo and Everett gave us the names of the Death Eaters they’d been working with on a job for Voldemort. At that time, for verification, they gave us the same memory of when they first met your parents. Their memories aligned, so we deemed their information to be valid.

“It was also within that memory that we began to question your parents’ allegiance to Voldemort. Harry noticed first how clearly they didn’t want to be there. They appeared only to be because they had something to mutually gain from what Voldemort sought. Or _who_ , more accurately.”

Draco’s intrigue piqued at that, for he had no real idea what You-Know-Who did on a day-to-day basis other than evilly brood and occasionally test the loyalty of his followers. It was Dagmar that replied, “Who were they looking for?”

“Does the name Magnus Norheim mean anything to you?”

The furrow in Dagmar’s brow returned. “Nei. . .I’m sorry.”

Dumbledore nodded. “We considered the possibility anyway, that whatever this man was carrying was of great value to Voldemort. It also clearly meant something to your parents. We thought that if we were also searching for Magnus, they would be more apt to join us.

“I think you know the rest of the story from there.” Dumbledore aged a little before Draco’s eyes. “For whatever reason, they couldn’t trust us more than Voldemort about it. I don’t understand.”

“Join the club,” Dagmar said. “I get it more now, but I don’t know what my parents would’ve been looking for. Up until they joined, I felt like we had everything. Nothing was ever missing. We never hurt for anything.”

“We looked into your family’s background in attempt to find what that might have been,” Dumbledore replied, “which brings us back to Draco’s question. What do we know about you? We knew that the Malfoys hosted you while your manor was being searched. You and Draco were betrothed around this time as Draco’s arrangement changed—” (Draco’s face grew warm) “—and that by mid-July, you two had already decided to leave the country after Hogwarts and had no intentions of joining the Death Eaters. Kingsley informed us of your run-in with the French Ministry, Dagmar. You both returned to Hogwarts looking worse for wear, and then Professor Snape deduced the black eye Draco had may have been the result of denouncing Voldemort to Lucius. Ever since then, you have been estranged from your parents, spare Narcissa to a degree. Those care packages you receive are the envy of the school, including some of us up at the staff table.” Dumbledore’s eyes glimmered briefly with amusement. “As far as children of Death Eaters go, you are as normal as can be expected. You focused entirely on your studies this year in attempt to give yourselves something better.”

In the silence that followed, Draco unfolded his mum’s letter again and reread the paragraph about his and Dagmar’s arranged marriage. If Dumbledore already knew about it, there was no point trying to hide it under the guise Draco didn’t feel like explaining the context of that particular paragraph. He slid the letter toward Dumbledore.

“My mum talked a bit there about our arranged marriage,” he said. “She wanted me to go with Dagmar because Hildegard knew Dagmar had no interest in any of You-Know-Who’s business. I think she knew where I was going—where I might wind up—and it was her attempt at helping me find my way out.”

Dumbledore reached for the letter and adjusted his glasses as he read it through. When he was done, he refolded it and pushed it back. He studied Draco.

“I never believed you were a bad person, Draco,” he said. “Nobody truly is, or they’re at least not born that way. You came into this world at a disadvantage. You were born during a time of fear and unrest in the wizarding world, and into a family that believed their prominence could only be upheld by Voldemort’s view of a new world order. Your father remained out of prison after Voldemort’s disappearance, which, while every child deserves their father, gave him free reign in raising you with the same beliefs.

“I’ve watched you closely over the years. When you first arrived at Hogwarts, your upbringing was clear. I’m unsure how long precisely it took you, but over time, you must have realized that most other witches and wizards do not think the same way as you were taught. Harry has told me some of the things you’ve said to him over the years. They grew increasingly nasty as your need to reassert those beliefs became greater.

“I found it very intriguing you became interested in dragons.” Dumbledore smiled at him again. “Dragonologists are among the elite of the wizarding world. They’re revered for their bravery, cunning, resourcefulness, and everything else that qualifies them to handle the most dangerous beasts of all. You would feel comfortable amongst them because you’re used to exclusive groups. As a dragonologist—something you _earned_ , not inherited—nobody could deny you as a great wizard. Not your father, not even Harry.

“It also gave you an external reason not to become an active Death Eater. If Voldemort came back, you would be too far away and too busy to be able to concern yourself with his affairs.”

Draco supposed it was all true, but he’d never been able to think about it that way before. His early years at Hogwarts had been plagued by anxiety. It made him feel better in the moment to reassert those old beliefs because even if his father wasn’t there, Draco knew he was pleasing him. Then the self-loathing would come for making himself even more alone, then the anxiety returned, and the cycle continued. The best thing that ever happened to Draco was the first task of the Triwizard Tournament. For one glorious afternoon, as Potter, Diggory, Delacour, and Krum tried their hand at outsmarting the dragons, all of that had gone quiet. Draco felt the calling.

“You really watched me that closely?” Draco asked.

Dumbledore nodded. “I’ve been at Hogwarts as a teacher for nearly a hundred years. You begin to notice patterns after a while. The meanest students are usually the ones crying the loudest for help. That you made an enemy out of Harry so quickly was also interesting. I wondered if perhaps your loathing of him over the years stemmed from jealousy, not because he was famous or you felt he received certain privileges, but because of how loyal his friends were. There has never been a time during Harry’s school years he’s been truly alone. You didn’t have that—or you didn’t feel like you did. It’s something we all crave—something we need—as human beings.

“What’s become clear from watching you this year is that you now have it. The difference is exactly what I expected. Your days as a bully are behind you. You proved yourself as a formidable force on the Quidditch pitch. Your focus and academic prowess when you apply yourself put you above your peers. Most importantly, you finally seem happy.”

Draco’s chin dipped down toward his chest. It was easier to look where his and Dagmar’s hands were joined than at Dumbledore. He felt it might be too much to even look at Dagmar at the moment.

“I am,” he said. “It still hasn’t been easy, but it’s better.”

“Good,” Dumbledore replied. “That should more than answer your question as to what I know about you.”

Draco’s gaze lifted on a snort. “Yeah.”

“We’ve been talking this week about how all of this with our parents might change our future,” Dagmar spoke up. “Our original plan was that since we were leaving the country, we’d basically do like you said with Draco as a dragonologist. We just wouldn’t be in a place where we could go the route our parents did, so there’s no point joining. That way, we figured, we could still have relationships with our parents. Now, well. . .we don’t really know. You said Voldemort might try to recruit us. We don’t know what to do if he does. We don’t want to join him. I’d say personally I’d rather die, but that’s hardly a figure of speech.”

“For now there is no sign of Voldemort,” Dumbledore said. “You still have a few more months until the end of the school year for things to change. What we’re doing is carrying on the search for Magnus Norheim. He’s the only real lead we have at the moment about what Voldemort is focused on.”

“Is there anything we can do to help?” Dagmar’s thumb ran over Draco’s again under the table. “I don’t know if it’s productive for us to really join since we’ll be abroad, but on Monday I had to speak with my parents’ advocate about the estate. Because my mum is in Azkaban, she can’t make any executive decisions. She’s not doing very well anyway, so I doubt she’d even be capable. I haven’t inherited everything, but I have control over it all. I don’t think my parents would’ve been opposed if I offered financial help to the Order. I thought about my manor house too. I think if anyone from my dad’s family wanted to move there, I would’ve heard by now. You might as well make use of it.”

“That’s very generous of you.” Dumbledore folded his hands in his lap with a smile. “Almost too generous for me to blindly accept—”

“There aren’t any conditions attached to it,” Dagmar clarified. “If you need it, you should have it. Our goals are the same. I want Voldemort dead. Defeated, whichever.”

“Apologies, I didn’t mean to imply you may want us to use your contributions in certain ways, or in return for something.” Dumbledore raised a hand. “I mean that if you fund us or offer a safe house for Order use, you should at least be aware of what you’re investing in. Not that I’m saying you _have_ to become members, but I would just like to mention that we do have members abroad. Charlie Weasley, for example, recruits witches and wizards in Romania. It was through him I became aware of Professor Parasca. She didn’t come here initially as an Order member, but she had a keen interest in allying with us in the Auror office when I told her she’s encountered Voldemort before.”

“She did?”

“Did Luca ever tell you about that strigoi his mother was chasing in Albania?”

Draco’s eyebrows rose. “It was him?”

Dumbledore nodded. “That’s where he hid for ten years until he met Professor Quirrell and made his way back to Britain.”

“If we could fit being Order members into our regular lives, we might as well join,” Dagmar replied with a confirming glance at Draco. “When you mention recruiting foreign wizards, I think immediately of my dad’s family. They’ve done something like this before. They might do it again if Voldemort ever tried to push into Norway. If he’s trying to find someone named Magnus Norheim, that might just be where he goes. We could keep an eye out.”

“It would certainly be helpful,” Dumbledore said.

“So how do we go about doing that, then?” Draco asked. “Is there something we have to sign, or anything like that?”

“No.” Dumbledore chuckled. “If your interests align with ours and you’re equally as motivated to bring peace back to the wizarding world, that’s good enough for me. Attending meetings and being active within the organization only speaks to how effective a member you are. We have allies as well, people that align with us like your aunt and uncle, but who aren’t active because they aren’t in a position to be.”

“I think we’d rather be active if we could,” Draco replied.

Dagmar nodded. “We’ve been passive long enough.”

“If that’s the case, then welcome,” Dumbledore told them. “There’s a meeting in another hour or so here, if you’d like to stick around. I’ve probably already told you what we’ll be covering with it, since I just wanted to update everyone on Voldemort’s current activities—or lack thereof—but it would be a chance for you to meet them all.”

Draco looked at Dagmar, raising his eyebrows with the silent question. She shrugged and smiled in response, agreeing.

“Sure,” Draco said.

“For now, it may be a little impossible to avoid some awkward discussions at the table,” Dumbledore replied. “Given recent events, your parents have been frequent topics of conversation. If you’re open to discussing them, we could do so now so that the things you might hear later don’t come as a surprise.”

“I honestly don’t think there’s much you could say that would make me uncomfortable,” Dagmar told him. “I’m aware my mum isn’t doing well. She tried to kill herself. I’ll admit I’m emotionally distancing myself to keep it from bothering me too much.”

“If you already know that, then I don’t have to inform you myself,” Dumbledore said. “I’ve been to Azkaban to interrogate her and Lucius. I didn’t get anything out of them.”

“Too bad.”

“We discovered some strange things about your mother when we were digging around in Norway,” Dumbledore said. “If you could possibly fill in some blanks, it might help us find Magnus. Because he was a concern when your parents first joined Voldemort, we believe that there may have been some shared history with him prior to 1981. Do you know where your mother went to school?”

“Kapsferd,” Dagmar answered.

Dumbledore shook his head. “She didn’t. I looked.”

Dagmar blinked, and Draco was stuck right along with her.

“Your father did, as did Magnus,” Dumbledore said. “Your mother did not.”

“Oh,” Dagmar quietly replied.

“What’s her maiden name?”

Dagmar’s gaze dropped to her lap. She rubbed her forehead.

“Herregud,” she said. “I don’t know. She never talked about her family. If I asked about them, she just changed the subject. I eventually learned not to bother.”

“This one might be a stretch because I’m certain you wouldn’t remember, but maybe you know anyway,” Dumbledore replied. “Do you remember where you lived before 1985?”

“I want to say in Bergen, but I have a feeling you’re going to tell me that wasn’t the case.”

“You’re unfortunately correct.” Dumbledore bowed his head. “Your mother first appears on paper in 1985, when she and your father bought the house now owned by the Dyrdahls. Your father lived in Tromsø before that, but we can’t place you or your mother there. We can’t even find where you were born. If it was in Bergen, it wasn’t at Olaf Kyrre.”

Dagmar’s eyes gradually widened as Dumbledore spoke. Her gaze darted along with the speed of her thoughts.

“I don’t know,” she hollowly replied. “That’s not what I was told. I thought my parents met in school, since they’re the same age. If they didn’t, are you saying they might not have even had enough time to get to know each other before they would’ve had me?”

“I don’t want to make insinuations like that,” Dumbledore was quick to say. “This is just where the information we have has led us.”

Dagmar leaned forward on the table, forehead in her hand. “I don’t remember anything. It’s always just been me, my mum, and my dad. I only remember Bergen. I don’t remember being anywhere else. Would I even know it was somewhere else if I _did_ remember it?”

“Probably not,” Draco mumbled an answer.

“You don’t think. . .” Dagmar trembled. “If my mum and Voldemort knew each other before. . .?”

“I’ll admit it’s crossed my mind,” Dumbledore said. “On a deeper level, though, I don’t know why it would be true. Everything Voldemort has ever done from the time he was young has had a calculated purpose. He has no interest in the things that make us human. There is no benefit to his goals in having a child. I sincerely doubt that it would’ve even been something that just happened.

“One must also take into account current events. Your parents joined Voldemort not because he wished to be close to you, but because they were looking for Magnus Norheim. I remember clearly what Voldemort looked like in his youth, and you share no traits with him. He had dark hair and dark eyes, which obviously are dominant traits over your blonde hair and blue eyes. Maybe it’s possible you have a different father than Erik, but I don’t believe it’s Voldemort.”

Regardless, Dagmar looked like she was about to be sick. Draco didn’t blame her. He himself had gone numb, since he was completely comfortable that Erik Ramstad was Dagmar’s father.

“You think it was this Magnus?” Dagmar asked.

“Maybe,” Dumbledore said. “I however have to apply the same reasoning with him as Voldemort. He too had dark hair and dark eyes. I want to stress, because it bears repeating, that none of this may be true. It’s all conjecture as we try to fill the gaps in our knowledge. You were born fourteen months after your father left Kapsferd. Even if your mother didn’t attend school with him, that’s still plenty of time for them to have met. It could just be that you arrived before their love for each other did. It’s not an uncommon way for a child to enter this world.”

“Ja,” Dagmar shakily replied. “It’s just weird. I never questioned anything. I always thought we were normal until they joined Voldemort. We _were_ normal. After the last three years, I know what it feels like not to be.”

“That’s all the information I have about your mother, anyway.” Dumbledore’s smile was strained. “Unless. . .I do have one more question about your background. Do you know where that house is in the nightmares you have?”

Dagmar shook her head. “Do _you?_ ”

“No,” Dumbledore answered. “There was an initial suspicion, but it was ruled out. Harry and I visited it after he saw the house during your Occlumency unit in Defence Against the Dark Arts. It wasn’t the place.”

“Where did you think it might be?”

“The Riddle house in Little Hangleton,” Dumbledore said. “Voldemort’s paternal family used to live there, until he murdered his father and grandparents.”

Draco’s breath caught in his throat. “He. . .?”

Dumbledore nodded, looking old.

“Little Hangleton,” Dagmar repeated the name, eyes narrowed. “Potter mentioned it.”

“The graveyard he also saw is visible from the Riddle house. It’s where Voldemort obtained his new physical body in 1995,” Dumbledore explained. “What were you doing there?”

Dagmar slowly turned wide eyes on Draco. The tips of her free hand’s fingers covered her mouth, and she looked somewhere between terrified and ready to cry. Draco squeezed her hand encouragingly.

“He took me there,” Dagmar admitted with a trembling voice. “Voldemort did.”

“When?”

“The evening before term started.”

“So you _have_ met him.”

“Just the once,” Dagmar clarified with a rough swallow. “He—” she took a deep breath, “Draco and I were getting packed to leave for the morning. Mr. Malfoy took me downstairs and told me Voldemort wanted to see me. He wanted me to show him the Heafonfýr Curse. I didn’t want to. I didn’t even have my wand, and I was still injured from Nice. When I said I’d rather not do it in Mr. Malfoy’s home, we left. Voldemort picked the graveyard because the weather was rotten. He wanted to see what I could do with lightning present. He gave me his wand.”

“He gave you his wand,” Dumbledore thoughtfully repeated.

“I really cocked up,” Dagmar said. “He just wanted me to show him. Professor, I used it on him.”

“What did it do? Did he block it?”

“He tried. He got knocked down. I went to check on him because I wasn’t sure what happened, and he stunned me when I got close.” Dagmar paused. “Then I was back at Malfoy Manor. Draco revived me. We left after that. We spent the night on the train.”

“I see.”

Dumbledore looked in deep thought. For once during this conversation, Draco had the feeling he was actually taken for a loop.

“The good news is it happened long enough ago that, were there any consequences, I’m sure we would’ve seen them by now,” Dumbledore said. “If you managed to get the better of him, I’m inclined to double down on the suspicion that Voldemort may attempt to recruit you. He would rather use you than oppose you, after that.”

“That’s why I thought maybe. . .” With a steadying breath, Dagmar glanced at Draco again. “If he asked us to join, would we make good spies?”

“I would never ask you to put yourself at such personal risk. I also would not recommend it, if you’re considering doing it regardless.”

“What other choice might I have?” Dagmar asked. “I don’t want to die if he comes to me and I tell him thanks but no thanks.”

“I can appreciate you’d rather prepare for the possibility than simply hope it doesn’t come to that.” Dumbledore rubbed his chin. “I _do_ hope it doesn’t come to that.”

“Me too.”

“Let me think about it,” Dumbledore said. “There are still a couple months before you have to leave Hogwarts. Until then, you’re safe. We’ll come up with something before the end of June.”

That he wasn’t upset seemed to help calm Dagmar back down. The tight knot that had developed in Draco’s stomach gradually eased as well, but didn’t disappear entirely. It was still unsettling. Draco thought he and Dagmar were aware of most things going on around them. He wasn’t comfortable at all with how ignorant they’d actually been.

“This has probably been enough for now.” Dumbledore checked a pocket watch for the time. “Did you still want to attend the meeting? It’s due to start in about half an hour. That would give you enough time to rest up a little beforehand.”

“Erm. . .” Dagmar rubbed her eyes. “We could try?”

“Yeah, maybe give us some time,” Draco agreed. “If we’re not up to it, we could always catch the next one?”

“It’s up to you.” Dumbledore stood. “Regardless of your choice, I thank you for your time. What you had to say was certainly enlightening. I regret that perhaps I was enlightening as well, but in a negative way. If you have any questions about the things we discussed, you don’t need to wait until the next Order meeting. You can always come to me privately.”

Draco nodded. “Thanks, Professor.”

He left the kitchen, closing the door behind him. Once he was gone, Dagmar released a long breath that ended with her face in her hands.

“I didn’t expect that,” she said when she raised her head again. “I don’t know what to think.”

“Me neither.” Draco rubbed her back. “Maybe now you know about it all, things will start coming back to you that you used to think were normal.”

“Maybe,” Dagmar mumbled. “I don’t remember anything from when I was that young. Do _you?_ ”

“I don’t think so.”

For now, all Draco could think to do was encourage Dagmar to rest her head on his shoulder while he stroked her hair. Such a deluge of information had left him similarly numb.

“What do you think about the meeting?” Dagmar asked a little while later.

“I’m kind of tired,” Draco said, “but I think it’s important we stay if we can. If we’re joining them, we might as well jump right in. What do you think?”

“Ja,” Dagmar quietly agreed. “It’s not like there’ll be anything else to know, right? Dumbledore said he’s just updating them on what Voldemort is doing right now, which is nothing.”

“They’ll probably want to know about my mum.”

Dagmar nodded. “I’m okay to push through, if you are.”

They took some time to enjoy the quiet. The odd sound came from elsewhere in the house, voices or footsteps carrying over above. A doorbell went, which set Great-Aunt Walburga off again. From a distance and not having to deal with it, Draco felt tickled by it.

He found a toilet around the stairs, and washed his face along with his hands after using it. Some cold water felt refreshing. Draco was starting to feel more like himself when a knock came at the kitchen door.

“Er, come in,” he said.

A red head popped in. Molly Weasley smiled warmly after looking them over.

“Hello, dears,” she greeted them. “I hope it’s all right I came down. I was going to put on tea for the meeting. Were you sticking around?”

Draco nodded jerkily. “We figured we might as well meet everyone.”

“Good! We’re glad to have you.” Mrs. Weasley ran the water to fill a massive kettle. “I don’t think it was expected, but you’re certainly welcome.”

“Yeah, we didn’t expect it either,” Draco admitted. “Things change, I guess.”

“You two have been holding up all right?” she asked.

“Probably about as well as could be expected,” Dagmar said with a mirthless chuckle. “Maybe on the better side of things, all considering. It’s hard to say if everything has really sunk in yet.”

“We all grieve in our own ways,” Mrs. Weasley turned away from the sink to say to them. “I found it’s different during war too. There’s a sort of. . .I don’t want to call it expectation, but surprise doesn’t come so easily.”

“Who did you lose?”

“My brothers.”

“Oh.” Dagmar shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “I’m sorry.”

“Thank you, dear.”

The kitchen door opened again. Draco pressed his lips together, unsure how to properly handle the arrival of Potter, Weasley, and Granger.

Granger beamed when she saw Dagmar and made a beeline around the table. Dagmar stood in time to receive a tight hug. Granger sighed when she let her go. “It’s good to see you. Have your holidays been okay so far?”

While they sat down and quickly went into comparing notes about their homework, Draco warily eyed Potter as he took a seat across from him. Weasley was more interested in bothering his mum in the kitchen, working his way around her in attempt to see what was available in the ice box.

Potter mirrored Draco’s folded arms. “All right?”

Draco nodded stiffly. “You?”

“Mhm.”

Weasley came back to the table with cakes in hand. Draco was spared having to force conversation by other people starting to file into the kitchen. Dumbledore returned along with Tonks, Kingsley, and some other people Draco didn’t recognize but figured were Aurors. Mr. Weasley came, as well as the twins. They forced an embarrassed smile out of Draco as they pointed at him like a zoo exhibit.

“Well, _look_ who it is!” one yelled over all the conversations happening around them.

“Fred, just sit down,” Mrs. Weasley sternly told him. “You don’t need to behave like that.”

They ended up coming around the table toward the empty seats beside Draco. One of the twins—Draco couldn’t tell them apart—clapped him on the shoulder in passing. They dropped down into their seats with such gusto, Draco was surprised the chairs didn’t break underneath them.

“So what’s going on, then?” the closest one asked. “I heard a little whisper that the Gryffindor Quidditch team has been suffering without us this year. Shame we couldn’t come back to finish up our NEWTs and lend a hand, eh Ron?”

“Shut up.” Weasley turned bright red.

“Yeah, we stomped them,” Draco said with a smirk and shrug. “They handled their own against Hufflepuff, though.”

Discussing Quidditch was an easy way to avoid anything deeper than skin level. Whether it counted as cheating or not, Draco shared with Potter some tips from playing Ravenclaw that might help him in the final match, while Potter did the same about Hufflepuff. They’d both seen the other’s game, so the information wasn’t exactly new. Draco still appreciated something just to fill the air between them.

Meanwhile, the rest of the chairs filled up. Hagrid taking a seat (in the space of about three chairs) ended the Quidditch conversation as he caught up with them all and updated Draco on the firedrakes (“Gettin’ nippy now they’re inter adolescence”). Professor McGonagall came as well, greeting Draco as briskly as she ever did while at Hogwarts. Professor Snape kept to himself after taking a seat, and then some older faces arrived. Professor Lupin and Professor Moody sat down on the other side of the twins.

Two more people walked through the kitchen door and Draco took a double-glance. It was Crabbe and Goyle. Whatever face Draco made must have been hilarious, because Weasley burst into laughter.

“What the bloody hell are _you_ doing here?” Draco asked them as they stopped behind where Potter and Weasley sat.

“Joined after Christmas.” Crabbe shrugged. “Could ask you the same.”

Draco’s gaze slid back to Potter with narrowed eyes. “If you two have been spying on me, at least you’re better at it than Potter.”

“Shut up, Malfoy,” Potter shot back.

“I sense a story,” the nearer twin said.

“Did you never hear about the incident with the invisibility cloak?” Draco asked him.

Potter groaned, his face falling into his hands. “Could you _not_ tell them about that? I think it’s equally mortifying for both of us.”

Draco considered it for a moment before ultimately deciding it was worth the sacrifice. He turned back to the twins. “So I’m down in the dungeons with my girlfriend after curfew. . .”

It was certainly funnier in hindsight when they all sat here on equal footing. The story volleyed back and forth as Potter got over himself, and the twins loved it. They both wore what looked like nearly-painful grins of amusement as a new cup of tea levitated down in front of Draco. A chorus of thanks to Mrs. Weasley followed before she took the last seat at the table. Dumbledore stood, which put a hush through the room.

“Now that we’re comfortable, we might as well start,” he said. “As you’ve probably all noticed, we have a few new faces amongst us. . .”


	30. Wind Down

It was surreal for Dagmar to sit there with them all. She couldn’t help that her mind kept wandering whenever Dumbledore was going over something she already knew about. By the end, Dagmar was completely mentally exhausted. She and Draco stuck around to socialize a little bit (Dagmar was happy to see Professor Lupin again), but she was relieved when she and Draco were able to say a final goodbye and step out.

She side-along apparated back to Malfoy Manor with Draco. He rubbed his eyes while yawning in his bedroom. “Fancy a kip?”

“Ja.” Dagmar unbuttoned her blouse. “My brain is a melted pile of ooze.”

“Mine too.”

Down to her knickers, Dagmar was content just to throw on one of Draco’s shirts before crawling into the bed beside him. They naturally gravitated together for some pre-sleep affection, but it was more short-lived than usual. Neither of them had the energy.

Dagmar’s dreams were a confusing mess. She didn’t remember any of them when she woke up. They were enough to keep her laying there while she processed being awake again. Draco was still out.

The things Dumbledore had told Dagmar earlier made no sense. Dagmar didn’t doubt he’d done his research, but it was very unsettling to learn that her life prior to her parents joining Voldemort wasn’t as normal as she thought. What if her dad _wasn’t_ actually her father? Where was she born, if not Bergen? Was her mum’s family even dead, like Dagmar had been led to believe?

Carefully as she could, Dagmar slipped out of the bed. Draco still hadn’t budged by the time she returned from the toilet. Dagmar grabbed a piece of parchment off Draco’s desk and scrawled out a note to leave on his bedside: _Gone to my manor. Come find me when you wake up. xo_

She pulled some shorts on and headed off. As Dagmar stepped out of the fireplace, she wondered where even to start. Would her parents have actually left something lying around in the open, where she might stumble upon it?

Somewhat hesitantly, Dagmar headed for the drawing room. She hadn’t gone in there for years. It had long been desecrated by her parents’ work with Voldemort. It was empty now. If Dagmar didn’t know any better, she might have been able to convince herself that nothing like that had ever happened in here. The room was quiet and cool with the curtains drawn. Dagmar opened them to let in some light.

When Dagmar and her parents first moved here, she remembered her dad showing her a display of family heirlooms. It was no longer set up. Dagmar started going through some of the cupboards, pausing when she found at least something she’d been looking for: photo albums. She put them on the table before carrying on her search.

Dagmar was sitting at the table flipping through the albums when she heard the whoosh of the fireplace out in the great room. She reached the drawing room door when Draco was just about to the foyer.

“Hey,” she got his attention. “I’m in here.”

He changed trajectory, following her in. He slowed inside the doorway and looked around with his hands in his pockets.

“Never been in here,” he said. “What’re you doing?”

“Going through some stuff.” Dagmar returned to her seat. “Come here, I want to show you something.”

Dagmar had set aside a couple sleek, black boxes. One was plain, the other decorated with raised Nordic runes. Dagmar opened the plain one first as Draco approached.

She tucked some hair behind her ear as the golden medal attached to a green ribbon gleamed in the sunlight streaming in. “This is the Order of Merlin my great-grandfather received after the Second Muggle World War.”

Draco accepted the box from her, lowering himself into the seat beside Dagmar as she unlatched the box with the runes on it. The second medal was also made of gold, but inlaid with small rubies in the shape of a mallet hammer. The ribbon was the same shade of red.

“This is his Order of Thor.” Dagmar smiled fondly. “Essentially the same thing as the first-class Merlin.”

“Cool.”

“They were among my grandpa’s most prized things,” Dagmar said. “They were on display in here when we first moved in. I found them tucked in the back corner of one of the cupboards.”

The expression of fascination on Draco’s face faded into pressed lips as his and Dagmar’s gazes met.

“I suppose You-Know-Who wouldn’t have liked looking at them much,” Draco said.

“Nei,” Dagmar agreed with a sigh. “I found my mum’s old photo albums too.”

Draco pulled up his chair a bit closer. “Anything interesting?”

“Ja and nei.” Dagmar idly flipped through the pages. “There’s nothing from before I was about five. I wonder if that’s just when my parents finally bought a camera.”

Otherwise, they appeared just as Dagmar remembered them: a normal family. The pictures covered a scope of holidays, and then the candid moments in-between. Some things Dagmar remembered, like a garden party at their home when she was eight. She had been really excited to wear the dress she had on. The pictures showed that by how brightly she beamed.

“You made for a cute kid,” Draco commented as he put an arm around her. “You looked so happy all the time.”

“I was.” Dagmar rested her head on his shoulder.

Draco’s head weighed on her in turn as Dagmar turned the pages. “Have you thought at all about the things Dumbledore said?”

“A bit,” Dagmar said. “Mostly that I don’t really care if my dad was actually my father. I was his daughter either way.”

She blinked away tears as she looked at a particular picture she kept coming back to. She must have been six at the oldest, still small enough for her dad to hold her. Dagmar grinned in the picture, her short, curly hair blown about by the wind, and her cheek pushed up toward her eye as her dad kissed it.

“That doesn’t change anything,” Dagmar carried on. “Maybe my mum made a mistake when she was younger, and my dad came later. Honestly, I don’t even know that I care if Voldemort happened to shack up with my mum, and here I came. I’d never recognize him as that, and I don’t think he’d care to see me that way either. Dumbledore’s right. It wouldn’t matter to him. There’s nothing he would ever gain from having a child.”

“He might like the idea of someone being bound to him like that.”

“Tough luck then, for all it got him from me.”

Draco snorted. “Well, I’m glad you’re not letting the possibility destroy you or anything.”

A little detail did make Dagmar nervous, though. She lifted her head off Draco’s shoulder and studied him. “Not that I buy it, but. . .you’d asked me who in my family is a Parselmouth because it’s hereditary. I didn’t mention it to Dumbledore. I don’t know if I want everyone thinking I might be related to him. Maybe it doesn’t matter to me, but it might to them. I already feel looked at a little warily because we’re coming in from Death Eater families.”

“We’ll see where the evidence goes.” Draco pushed some hair out of Dagmar’s face. “It doesn’t matter to me either, just so you know. I love you either way. Erik is the only person I would ever recognize as your father.”

The drawing room ended up being where they focused their attentions for the next week as they sorted through Dagmar’s parents’ things. By the time they were packing the following Sunday morning in preparation of returning to Hogwarts, Dagmar felt like she had a decent grasp on the personal items she would take with her when she moved away.

Kingsley knocked on the front door close to eleven so that he and Tonks could apparate them back to Potter’s house. Dagmar braced herself as they came into the front door there that Mrs. Black might go off again. She stayed quiet behind her curtain.

“No Potter?” Draco asked.

“I think he left once Ron and Hermione headed for King’s Cross,” Kingsley replied.

Draco headed first through the fireplace after bidding goodbye to Kingsley and Tonks. Dagmar gave them a small wave on her way toward it. “Thanks for everything, the past few weeks.”

Kingsley bowed his head. “See you next Friday.”

Dagmar spun her way north through the floo network, sticking out a foot when she saw Dumbledore’s office. Draco was still there. It was a long walk down to the dungeons with their things.

“The castle’s so quiet,” Dagmar said. “Wish it always was.”

“It’s kind of nice, isn’t it?”

It seemed like hardly no time at all they were standing outside later waiting for all their friends, swapping tales of the holidays over dinner, and then heading down to Herbology in the morning.

“Two more weeks,” Theo lamented as he, Dagmar, Draco, and Daphne went on with the day’s work at their greenhouse station. “Then no more homework. Just review.”

“You really think the homework will stop because we’re starting review?” Dagmar asked.

“What more’s there to learn once we’ve covered all the course material?”

Dagmar hoped Theo was right. Professor Sprout accepted their homework from the holidays at the end of class and turned around with another assignment. So did Professor Flitwick next period, and then Professor Vector after lunch.

The sun was warm later in the afternoon as it came close for Draco’s Care of Magical Creatures lesson to end. Dagmar couldn’t find it in her to focus well enough on her homework in the library, so she and Blaise headed out onto the grounds early. Blaise and Luca ended up staying out in the courtyard while Draco mentioned wanting a shower.

“Jormundr’s being an absolute twat right now,” Draco huffed. “Hagrid wasn’t wrong when he said they were getting ignorant. I didn’t get bitten or swiped, but Jormundr spat on me twice.”

Dagmar snickered. “Now imagine what that’s going to be like when you’re dealing with dragon adolescents instead of firedrakes.”

“Save me a bed at Olaf’s.”

“Joking aside, I wouldn’t be surprised if Jotunheimen has one specially reserved there.”

“Oh well.” Draco bumped into Dagmar’s shoulder with his, smirking. “Least the Healers will be nice to look at.”

“Ja, ja, spare me.”

The dorm was empty when they reached it, which did little to dissuade Draco’s fresh behaviour. What did was the bits of dried firedrake bogey in his hair. Dagmar recoiled away from him when some came away on her fingers. She ushered Draco off to the shower.

Dagmar was just about to make herself comfortable on Draco’s bed when she noticed a note on the bedside table. It was addressed to Draco in Snape’s writing. She poked her head back into the bathroom.

“Draco?” she called over the sound of running water.

“Yeah?”

“You have a note here from Snape. Can I open it?”

“Go for it.”

Dagmar flopped down onto Draco’s bed with it. As she read, she had a feeling she (along with every other seventh-year) would find something similar on their own bedsides:

_Mr. Malfoy,_

_This year’s graduation ceremony will take place on Saturday, June 13th. Each graduate is allowed a maximum of five guests. I need to know by June 1st how many are coming so that accommodations can be arranged for them within the castle._

_The ceremony’s official schedule will follow in a separate note as it is finalized._

_Professor Snape_

Draco came out of the bathroom later with a towel wrapped around his waist. He closed his bed curtains. “What’s that about, then?”

“Grad,” Dagmar answered. “We’re all allowed five guests, and Snape needs to know who we’re inviting.”

Draco hummed, slowing in his search for pants in his trunk. “The only people I can think for myself are Auntie Andie and Uncle Ted. Tonks, if she’d like. Do you think it’s too soon to ask them something like that? We only just met.”

“I think you should ask them if you want them to come.” Dagmar idly watched Draco towel off. “I can’t see why they’d say no. They clearly want a relationship with you and it might mean a lot to them if you take the next step.”

“Probably,” Draco replied. “I’ll write them before I have a chance to forget about it. Who’re you going to invite?”

Dagmar shrugged. “The only family I have is in Oslo. It doesn’t seem like the best way to meet them again for the first time in like ten years.”

Draco hummed again in thought. Dressed as far as trousers, he took a seat on the edge of his bed. “Blood relatives, maybe. What about Filip and Janne? I bet they would come if you asked.”

A smile touched Dagmar’s lips. “Well, Fru Dyrdahl _did_ offer to come help me with the estate if I needed it. I’d rather invite them to Britain for something fun.”

It still made Dagmar nervous to ask something so personal of Herr og Fru Dyrdahl. If they declined or just couldn’t make it, then Dagmar had nobody. She did her best not to let that anxiety seep into the letter she wrote, framing it instead as a chance to see each other since they hadn’t over Easter.

One by one, Dagmar and Draco completed the last essays and assignments they would be given for each of their classes. April ended on a Thursday. With it, Dagmar handed in Potions, Herbology, History of Magic, and Astronomy.

She could hardly separate herself from Draco in the Room of Requirement as they met up afterward. “It’s been so long since I didn’t have homework looming over my head. I forgot what this feels like.”

Draco laughed. “Me too.”

They only really got the one night to enjoy the feeling. First thing Friday morning, review began with Professor McGonagall. Dagmar’s brain felt slushy by period’s end. McGonagall had left them with recommended areas of study to get through by their next class Wednesday, and Professor Parasca and Professor Vector did the same. That afternoon, Dagmar idly flipped through some of the things she’d handed in at the beginning of sixth year for those classes. Despite receiving Os on the lot, she hardly remembered penning it in the first place.

The schedule for the NEWT exams was released the following Monday for the first week of June. Draco wrinkled his nose as he read through the same letter from the Ministry every other seventh-year had received during breakfast. “I have to sit Charms on my birthday.”

“It’s your last one,” Dagmar reminded him with a kiss to the cheek. “Lucky you. I have to sit Astronomy at nine that night. While you’ll all be celebrating, I’ll be studying for one more.”

“Guess you should’ve dropped it,” Milly said with a nudge.

“Nei, it was actually really interesting this year!” Dagmar replied. “Honestly, it was one of my fun classes. Even the homework wasn’t bad.”

“You must be kidding,” Draco told her. “What were all those numbers you were putting in your homework? It looked Greek to me.”

“It _was_ Greek,” Dagmar said. “The way magic exists in the universe can be written mathematically, and they use Greek characters for variables.”

“Glad I dropped that one, then,” Theo replied. “Doesn’t sound like my cup of tea.”

“Why, can’t do math?” Blaise asked him. “What’s seven times eight?”

“Er. . .”

“Come on, seven times eight,” Blaise repeated, breaking into an amused grin. “It’s not that hard.”

“I’m thinking, shut up!”

“It’s okay.” Luca reached over to pat Theo sympathetically on the arm. “We love you regardless.”

“Who needs brains anyway, when you have looks like mine?” Theo theatrically brushed his hair back.

The first week of May also came with a daily stream of other owls intent for their fellow seventh-years. Everyday in class, Dagmar heard exciting news shared between friends about who got a job offer where. She started to get nervous even though it made sense job offers closer to home, like at the Ministry, would arrive first. Dagmar just about keeled over when an owl landed in front of her Friday morning at breakfast. She recognized it as Mímir then, which was just fine. Herr og Fru Dyrdahl had happily accepted her invitation to come to Hogwarts for her graduation ceremony. That was one less thing to worry about.

A small owl landed in front of Draco on Monday morning, halting him on eating his breakfast.

“Oooh, what kind of owl is that?” Daphne asked. “It’s cute!”

“A boreal owl,” Dagmar replied. “Where’s it from, Draco?”

Draco’s hands shook slightly as he untied it, and Dagmar didn’t blame him. Boreal owls were native to Norway, amongst other places. He exhaled as he read the return address. “Gate of the Arctic.”

“What’s that?” Theo asked.

Draco ignored him while opening the envelope. Dagmar read it over his shoulder:

_Mr. Draco Malfoy,_

_Thank you for your application to Gate of the Arctic Dragon Reserve. We are excited to inform you that we have a tentative position available in our apprenticeship program. The position is conditional upon the results of your NEWT examinations. As a reminder, we require a minimum of:_

_\- O in Potions  
_ _\- O in Care of Magical Creatures  
_ _\- E in Herbology  
_ _\- E in Charms  
_ _\- A in Transfiguration_

_The position starting date is August 1st with an annual salary of 4500 dragots (approximately 3767 galleons according to current currency values). Kindly let us know as soon as possible if you’re still interested in the position, as well as attach a copy of your NEWT results once available._

_Thank you,_

_Edensaw Tsaagweidí  
_ _Warden, Gate of the Arctic Dragon Reserve  
_ _Lggeyisaa, Alaska_

Draco’s grin was wide as he folded the letter back up. “Job offer from the dragon reserve in the United States.”

Theo’s jaw went slack and he blinked. “You’re not really moving that far away, are you?”

“Don’t want to,” Draco replied as he went back to his breakfast. “It’s just one of the reserves I tried for to see what happens. Ideally, I’ll get on at the one up in Norway.”

“Dragons, huh?” Theo eyed him warily. “That’s what you’re going to do with your hopefully-not-short life? Dagmar, you’re allowing this?”

“Of course.” Dagmar put an arm around Draco and kissed his cheek. “He can do whatever he wants so long as it’s somewhere I can go with him.”

“What’s there for you over there?” Blaise asked Dagmar.

“A hospital,” she answered. “I’m still going into Healing.”

While it was exciting for job offers to begin rolling in, it came with anxiety. An owl arriving from Alaska before Norway wasn’t the best sign in the world. A couple more owls arrived on Wednesday, one for Draco from Cǎlimani Dragon Reserve in Romania, and one for Dagmar from Olaf Kyrre.

“Oh, I’m scared to open it,” she said while Draco tore into his.

“I can for you,” Daphne offered. She smiled as she opened the envelope, but it quickly disappeared. “Oh, it’s in Norwegian.”

“Damn.” Dagmar took it back.

“I got another offer,” Draco said.

“Ooh, good for you.” Dagmar thrust her letter at him. “Now read this for me before I die.”

Draco’s gaze darted quickly over it. He smiled. “You must have just known you’d get it. How could you not?”

“Did I?” Dagmar snatched it back, then sighed in relief. “I just have to make the right grades for the NEWTs. That’s all that stands between me and Bergen.”

“That, and my letter from Jotunheimen. . .” Draco reminded her.

“Is _that_ what you two have been up to?” Theo asked. “I thought you were just trying to be clever, learning a language no one else could speak. I’ve heard my name often enough in all that mess, I know what’s up.”

“To be honest, sometimes we just sprinkle it in because we know it annoys you,” Draco told him. “But yeah, we want to move over there. I just need to get a job now.”

“Do you, though?” Theo replied. “I’m sure you’d do just fine without.”

“Financially, but not mentally. I don’t want to just sit around and live off my family’s money.”

Theo put a hand to his chest. “I’m so attacked.”

“We’re just going to travel first for a while.” Daphne rested her head on Theo’s shoulder and rubbed his back. “Then we’ll get married, then maybe a kid or two. . .”

Dagmar smiled at her. “Nothing wrong with that.”

“We’ll come visit you!” Daphne’s eyes lit up. “I’ve never been to Norway. You could show us around.”

Draco didn’t have to wait much longer for news from Jotunheimen. A Ural owl landed the next morning at the table. At first Dagmar thought it was Mímir, but its markings were different and it stuck its leg out to Draco instead.

He stared at it. “Well, this is it, I guess. Our entire future rides on this.”

“Ja, so open it.”

Draco handed it over to Dagmar instead. As she read the first paragraph, tears of happiness sprung to her eyes. Draco didn’t look sure what they meant, but he at least relaxed a little when Dagmar tightly hugged him.

“Get the right grades on the NEWTs and we’re going,” she told him.

Draco had to read the letter for himself before he accepted it. They ended up leaving breakfast early before Potions started. Down in the dungeons, Draco picked Dagmar up and held her tightly as he spun her around.

“Pressure’s still on,” he said after kissing her. “At least once we play Hufflepuff on Saturday, there’s nothing else to do but review.”

“Mhm.” Dagmar held his face so that she could press her lips to his one more time. “I think we’re going to do just fine. The hardest part is behind us.”

* * *

The sound of Slytherin’s section in the Quidditch pitch still rang through Harry’s ears as he waited in one of the hallways below. He was just starting to rethink this when laughter sounded from deeper within. A door opened and Malfoy, Zabini, and Luca all emerged from the Slytherin male change room with wet hair. Malfoy spotted Harry first, his eyes narrowing in consideration while Zabini and Luca just looked curious.

“Need something, Potter?” Malfoy asked.

“Just a quick word.”

Malfoy pointed his jaw at Zabini and Luca. “I’ll catch up to you.”

They headed off, leaving Harry alone with Malfoy. Yet again the impulse hit Harry just to tell him never mind and that he’d see him on June fifteenth for the last Order meeting of the school year.

“Just wanted to say congratulations on winning the Cup,” Harry told him. “We won’t catch your lead, and I doubt Ravenclaw has any better a chance.”

Malfoy’s usual smirk emerged, but it was a warmer type of proud than it used to be. “Shouldn’t be too hard for Gryffindor to still get second place. You only have to score two-hundred points to get over Hufflepuff.”

“Yeah, true.” Harry nodded as they started a slow walk toward the exit. “Ravenclaw’s tough this year, though, even if you shut them out.”

“They were,” Malfoy confirmed. “Still, you came back well after our game. Just hold your momentum.”

Harry studied him, relaxing since Malfoy didn’t mirror how awkward Harry felt talking to him. Hermione had been right to point out that it didn’t take much at all to draw out a pleasant Malfoy. Harry had done it once before when he asked Malfoy about his plans after Hogwarts. Quidditch seemed to be an even easier way to accomplish that.

“It almost sounds to me like you _want_ Gryffindor to get second,” Harry said.

“Of course,” Malfoy breezed. “Of all three teams, we beat you the worst. If you manage second, it only makes us look better.”

Harry scoffed. “Hey, I never had the chance to ask you yesterday at the meeting. What’s the story behind the rumour going around that the lot of you received invitation letters for professional tryouts?”

“The ones in seventh year on our team did.” Malfoy nodded. “I turned mine down since I won’t be around. Blaise is on the fence, but Milly’s going for it. She was asked by the Cannons to try for Beater.”

“Huh.” Harry wondered what Ron would think of that.

“Did anyone on the Gryffindor team get offers?”

“I did.” Harry’s face warmed a little. “I turned mine down too, though. I got on for Auror training.”

Malfoy smirked again. “After everything you’ve dealt with since we got here, they could probably just skip testing how you work under stress, huh?”

“You’d think.” Harry laughed. “You and Ramstad still on for Norway, then? Or do you know yet?”

“So long as we do all right on the NEWTs,” Malfoy replied. “Don’t want to get ahead of myself, but I think we will. We’ve worked too hard this year not to.”

“Probably, although I’ll admit it’s been strange to watch you work for anything, for once.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Malfoy rolled his eyes before nudging Harry. “See you around.”

He’d spotted Ramstad waiting for him outside the pitch. While Malfoy made his way over, Ramstad waved at Harry. He returned it before heading off toward the castle.

Ron and Hermione had already made it to the Gryffindor table. Harry could hardly hear himself think from how loud the Slytherins were being. They deserved to feel proud of themselves as their Quidditch season ended, but Harry could see other students that didn’t agree. Most of the people at the Gryffindor table acted like an aeroplane passed directly over their heads, all while casting exaggerated glares across the Great Hall.

“Where were you?” Hermione asked when Harry sat down beside her.

“Talking to Malfoy.” Harry scooped some steak and kidney pie onto his plate.

“What about?”

“Nothing, really.” Harry shrugged.

“We mates with him now then, or what?” Ron asked with a slightly-wrinkled nose.

“Meh,” Harry said. “I just thought since he’s in the Order, it’s kind of important to feel like I can actually talk to him.”

Ron pointed his fork at Harry. “Cheers, I’ll give you that.”

It remained surreal to Harry how the school year had changed with Malfoy compared to how it began. He’d thought it would go a lot differently than it had, with Malfoy hell-bent to prove himself worthy to Voldemort. Maybe if Malfoy intended to stay in Britain and he and Harry were in close enough professional proximity, the tentative respect that budded between them would have a chance to develop. Harry felt pretty neutral about it, if he was honest with himself. It pleased him enough that they’d reached a mutual understanding.

Ron grimaced beside Harry as the Slytherin table lit up anew. Malfoy had entered the Great Hall, hand-in-hand with Ramstad, while both of them grinned at the enthusiasm. For the moment with their guaranteed Quidditch Cup win, their housemates had forgiven them the shadow of their parents.

“That’s a bit obnoxious, isn’t it?” Ron asked.

Harry just shrugged with a smile. “Let them have their day.”

* * *

It seemed like no time at all that Monday, June the first had arrived, and Draco was nervously entering the Great Hall shortly before nine to write his first NEWT. He found his seat amongst the rows of desks, sandwiched between Longbottom and Macmillan. Longbottom was the only person that hadn’t to some degree taken on a pale appearance. Draco wondered how it must feel to exude that much confidence on the first day of the week that determined the rest of their lives.

“You’re going to do just fine,” Dagmar reassured him when he came over to her desk to visit for a little bit. “Just remember everything we reviewed.”

“There was so much of it, though.”

Draco needed an O on this NEWT. If he didn’t manage that, it wouldn’t matter how else he did. An E today meant everything else was worthless. He tried not to think that way as an exam administrator set the written section face down on his desk.

“You have one hour,” another one said at the front. “At ten o’clock, we will move on to the practical section in Greenhouse Seven. You may begin.”

The rustle of parchment sounded small in such a massive room. Draco ignored his pounding heart as he read the first question: _Describe in detail the properties of fluxweed per each of the four moon phases._

That wasn’t so bad. It hadn’t even really been Herbology that Draco learned this, but Potions. He dipped his quill into his ink and began to write with a flurry that even Granger would probably respect.

Transfiguration came the next morning in much the same format as the Herbology exam, and then Dagmar had Arithmancy in the afternoon. Draco studied for Potions while she sat that, and Dagmar joined him after she was done. Potions on Wednesday didn’t feel bad at all after the steep learning curve of making the Polyjuice Potion from scratch. Defence Against the Dark Arts was Thursday morning, followed by Care of Magical Creatures in the afternoon. Hagrid worked some jobs he probably didn’t have to near the firedrakes enclosure, so he could look in on the practical portion. Jormundr was worse-behaved than usual as his adult instincts came in, but Draco thought he did a good job handling him for the hour he sat with an examiner. Hagrid returned his thumbs-up as Draco headed back up to the castle to join Dagmar on studying for Charms.

All week, Draco had missed his chance to sleep with Dagmar up in the Room of Requirement. He hardly had time to think about his needs beyond eating and sleeping as the NEWTs went on, but Draco was starting to grow weirdly anxious without more than passing affection from Dagmar. He tried not to be too much of a pest as he turned eighteen on Friday, for right after the Charms NEWT let out, Dagmar still needed to prepare for her last. She let herself be briefly distracted as all their friends ate cake and drank firewhisky in the boys’ dorm (Dagmar skipped the latter) in celebration of Draco’s birthday. Draco had sobered up before Dagmar even headed for her exam at nine o’clock, and he was beyond eager to have her to himself when she could finally join him in the Room of Requirement afterward.

Draco pulled Dagmar up against him after she’d set her bag down. Now that they were both finished with exams, it started to really sink in that that was it. Other than their graduation ceremony and fifteen more sleeps, they were completely done with Hogwarts.

“Went all right?” Draco asked her.

“I didn’t think it was bad at all.” Dagmar leaned in for a kiss. “It’s over. That’s all I care about right this second.”

The lightness in Draco’s chest carried easily over to her. On this side of all the stress, doubt, hard work, and everything else that had gone into their final year at Hogwarts, Draco wanted nothing more than to experience how carefree things could be. Dagmar caught his drift before Draco could even try to lead her there, her fingers ghosting up his abdomen underneath his shirt. Draco didn’t leave enough space between them for her to carry on with it when they moved to the bed. Dagmar was more prone to run her hands up and down his back anyway, holding him close.

With nothing else to concern over until their NEWT results came, it became quickly commonplace to sneak off with Dagmar. Stress fell over the castle again come Monday as the fifth-years started their OWLs, but Draco caught none of it. He was only excited as Friday grew nearer, and he and Dagmar greeted Auntie Andie, Uncle Ted, Tonks, Janne, and Filip when they arrived for the ceremonies come Saturday. When Auntie Andie and Uncle Ted drifted off to revisit old favourite corners of the castle, and Tonks was waved over by Potter, Weasley, and Granger, Dagmar eased her and Draco’s conversation with the Dyrdahls over to Norwegian.

Their tour of the castle ended up on the Astronomy Tower. Little wisps escaped Janne’s hair as they all looked down over the grounds.

“I always wondered how Hogwarts was different,” she said. “I prefer the mountains. There’s hardly even really trees around Kapsferd.”

“Oh really?” Dagmar asked. “How far north _is_ it?”

“About as far as Tromsø, just further east.” Janne smiled. “So how long now until you find out for sure if you’re coming to Bergen?”

“Not much longer,” Draco answered. It had made him proud that his Norwegian was good enough now to keep up with native Bergensere. Only a few times had he needed to ask either Janne or Filip to repeat something because their accents were a little different than he was used to. “Our NEWTs should be back by the end of next week. They bang them out really fast since we’re trying to figure out what the rest of our lives are going to look like.”

She laughed. “That’s considerate of them.”

“Have you thought at all where you’re going to live in Bergen?” Filip asked. “If you’re buying, renting. . .?”

“We’re not quite sure yet,” Dagmar said. “Both our jobs aren’t due to start until August, so we have plenty of time to sort it out.”

“If you don’t want to rush into buying a place, you’re more than welcome to rent our cottage up on Sanviksfjellet,” Janne offered. “It could use some presence. Nobody’s lived there since Ingrid and Roar bought their own place.”

“That’s a very generous offer,” Dagmar replied. Draco could see her struggling with it.

“It’s really not.” Janne winked at her while touching her shoulder. “We’ll come up with a fair market price on rent, and honestly, if you two like it enough, we can arrange a sale. The view is gorgeous.”

“I think I remember going to a party or two up there, if it’s the place I’m thinking of,” Dagmar said. She glanced at Draco, who nudged her. “Sure, we can at least check it out. I don’t know that we’re very picky about size or anything. So long as it’s close to our workplaces, it’s perfect.”

“A view doesn’t hurt,” Draco jested.

* * *

Dagmar appreciated visiting the Dyrdahls and Draco’s aunt and uncle on Friday, because Saturday didn’t offer much opportunity for it at all. The graduation ceremony started mid-morning and was over by noon. Dagmar hardly felt like she had a chance to say goodbye to their guests before she was walking down to Hogsmeade with the rest of the seventh-years. Dumbledore had bought out Madam Rosmerta’s liquor stock and reserved them all the Three Broomsticks for the evening.

Come Monday, Dagmar still hadn’t fully recovered. She headed down for breakfast mid-morning when she heard that NEWT results had started trickling into the castle. A couple tawny owls landed in front of her and Draco as they took their seats at the Slytherin table.

“Well, this is it,” Dagmar said.

Draco held his against his chest, head bowed briefly in prayer. “Please, for the love of god.”

Dagmar laughed and opened hers, nauseous with a combination of nerves and anticipation:

_O Transfiguration  
_ _O Charms  
_ _O Potions  
_ _O History of Magic  
_ _O Defence Against the Dark Arts  
_ _O Herbology  
_ _O Arithmancy  
_ _O Astronomy_

Her jaw dropped. Beside her, the breathe was audibly pulled from Draco’s lungs.

“Well?” Dagmar leaned over to look:

_O Transfiguration  
_ _O Charms  
_ _O Potions  
_ _O Defence Against the Dark Arts  
_ _O Herbology  
_ _O Care of Magical Creatures_

“Hey, same as me!” Dagmar put an arm around his shoulders. Draco hardly reacted from his shock. “Bloody fine job, if I do say so myself.”

Now that Dagmar held her results in her hand, she wasn’t at all shocked at what she and Draco had accomplished. There was no room for doubt that they deserved it, and certainly not that they’d earned it. Draco’s chest was puffed out, his grin wide, as he and Dagmar went up to the owlery with one of the Ministry-provided copies to send off to Olaf Kyrre and Jotunheimen.

Their return owls arrived on Thursday, officially offering the positions. Dagmar didn’t think, despite how dark some periods of her year had been, that she could feel happy at all as she packed her trunk. Her chest was starting to grow heavy in some regards at the prospect of saying goodbye forever to Hogwarts, and she allowed herself to feel some grief that neither of her parents would ever be able to share her success.

Despite the lack of activity on Voldemort’s part, Dumbledore offered Dagmar and Draco the same quick trip to London via floo to Potter’s place. Saturday morning, after Dagmar hugged all their friends goodbye with promises to get in touch, it was only her, Draco, and Potter at the castle.

The three of them gravitated toward each other when the last carriage headed down the drive. In the distance, smoke rose from the Express’ engine.

“Guess this is it, huh?” Draco said to Dagmar and Potter to break the silence.

“Oh, don’t,” Dagmar told him. She was a little horrified that tears rose again in her eyes. “I was doing so good.”

Potter laughed a little. “I know what you mean. This is the only place that ever felt like home to me.”

“What about where you’re at now?” Draco asked.

Potter shrugged with a wrinkled nose. “Because Sirius’ family put so many spells on it, it’s hard to make it my own. Doesn’t help I haven’t been there nine months out of the year.”

“I can’t imagine Great-Aunt Walburga makes for much of a flat-mate either.”

Potter snorted. “No.”

As Dagmar and Draco headed down to the dungeons to fetch their trunks, Dagmar’s emotions swung again from melancholy to unabridged happiness. She pushed Draco up against the wall with a chuckle and sighed contentedly as they kissed.

“I’m never spending another night away from you,” she told him. “What a luxury to never have to fight for it again.”

Draco’s gaze softened as he tucked a piece of Dagmar’s hair behind her ear. “I know. I’m still a little in shock that things worked out—well, mostly.”

Dagmar nodded. “It seemed impossible to see past the train ride, back in September. We fought like hell. The things we have—the things we’re getting—we deserve all of them.”

“We do.”

Dumbledore was alone in his office when they made it up there with their trunks, a grumpy Heimdall, and Ulysses.

“Harry’s already gone,” he told them. “He’ll be waiting for you on the other end, I imagine.”

Dagmar nodded. “Thanks, Professor. I’m glad this isn’t the last time we’ll be seeing each other.”

“Of course not.” Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled. “Send me an owl when you’re all settled in, and I’ll give you a date and time to meet. I don’t anticipate we’ll have much to catch up on, but it’s good for all of us to keep in touch.”

Even if Dagmar and Draco weren’t at potential risk from Voldemort right this moment, Dagmar was incredibly happy they could skip the train ride to London. She wanted to start the rest of her life as soon as possible, even if she was still fighting back emotion as she took one last sweeping look at Dumbledore’s office before stepping into the fireplace. Sure enough, as Dumbledore predicted, Potter had lingered in his parlour. He and Draco stood together with their arms folded, making what looked like stiff conversation. Draco looked relieved for Dagmar to have arrived.

He held a hand up to Potter in a quick wave. “See you later.”

Potter nodded. “Cheers.”


	31. Rabbit in the Snare

“ _Rennervate_.”

Narcissa’s eyes snapped open. She was laying on her back, facing a dark, fire-lit ceiling with no memory of how she’d gotten there. Her head pounded, and her vision wavered a little.

She focused as a face came into view above her. Wild black hair framed livid eyes. Bella’s lips quivered, and angry tears streaked her cheeks. Narcissa’s heart sunk with dread.

“Where were you going, Cissy?” Bella’s voice hardly formed a whisper.

“Nowhere.”

Narcissa attempted to sit up. Her back hit the floor again so hard that her diaphragm nearly stilled. Narcissa couldn’t breathe anyway, thanks to the boot digging into her chest. She tried to push Bella’s foot off, but her heel only dug deeper into her ribs.

“Bella,” she gasped. “What are you doing?”

“You _traitor!_ ” Bella shrieked so loudly Narcissa flinched. “You’re a _traitor!_ All this time—was the Dark Lord not good enough to you? Did he not protect you? And now you go and—”

Whatever she’d purportedly done, Narcissa didn’t find out. Bella’s rage boiled over beyond what yelling could alleviate. Hot-white heat burst into life upon every nerve of Narcissa’s body. She recoiled, trying to escape it, but it was no use. All she could do was scream.

Narcissa fought for air when it finally stopped. A tingling remained as if her nerves had been fried with electricity. She tried to crawl backward on the floor, away from where Bella stood over her. She didn’t have the strength.

“It was _you_.” Bella’s voice dropped again. “ _You_ called the Ministry to Ramstad Manor. Was that the plan?” She bent down over her knees, nearly cooing. “Lucius runs off to help them fight the Aurors, and you slip off to dear little Andie’s?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Every word was a fight for Narcissa. Her vocal cords were similarly stunned.

“Not a clue?” Bella’s eyes widened with mock-childish wonder. “ _Not a clue_ , she says, my Lord.”

A hooded figure appeared in Narcissa’s peripheral vision. She met the gaze of the scarlet eyes underneath it, too weak to fend off a Legilimency Spell.

The Dark Lord’s upper lip twitched. “She doesn’t know.”

Bella looked from him back to Narcissa, sneering. “She was still making for Andie’s. She was going to leave.”

“Yes.” The Dark Lord retreated, his footsteps echoing against the wood floor. “I need to think.”

Narcissa’s head lolled so that she faced away from Bella. Tears leaked involuntarily from her eyes. This wasn’t how tonight was supposed to go at all. It had been a fairly normal one, or at least what constituted normal lately between Narcissa and Lucius. When he was called away and Narcissa was left alone at home, she barely thought about what she was doing as she left her half-eaten dinner and headed upstairs to grab the bag she had packed. She’d done her preparations, now it was time to follow through.

“It’s just us.” Bella sank to her knees beside Narcissa. At least she had calmed down. “Lucius is going to Azkaban, you know. Erik’s dead.”

Narcissa looked back at her sister. Bella’s stare went long out one of the dark windows. The Dark Lord sat beyond her on one of the couches that had long turned grey with dust.

Bella’s gaze darted back to Narcissa. “Maybe you didn’t call in the Ministry, but you were going to betray us anyway, weren’t you? I’m sure Andie could easily get in touch with Dumbledore for you, if you asked her to.”

All of Narcissa’s muscles felt like they weighed ten times more than normal. She struggled to push herself up into a seated position. Her head throbbed again. Narcissa pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes. Stars erupted in her vision.

“What do we do with her, my Lord?” Bella asked.

“Hush,” the Dark Lord replied.

Narcissa looked around. She didn’t recognize where they were. She had no idea how far she’d have to go or in what direction to escape.

“You said Lucius was caught?” she hesitantly asked Bella.

Bella nodded. “Hildegard and Rod, too.”

Narcissa’s heart grew heavy again. “And Erik, he. . .?”

“He took the Killing Curse for the Dark Lord—”

“Don’t be silly, Bella,” the Dark Lord spoke. “You know as well as I do he didn’t do it for me.”

Narcissa furrowed her brow, but it was far from her place to ask that he elaborate. She never meant for anything like this to happen, whether it was her fault or not. Hildegard and Erik had always struck Narcissa as someone like her, stuck with no current means of getting out. Was that not the point of getting their kids out of the situation? So they would be easier to follow when the time came?

If Lucius was caught—if he was going to Azkaban—Narcissa feared how this might change Draco’s level of safety. She’d meant to slip away and take the spotlight with her. If she could hide with Andie, or if Dumbledore put her somewhere else, then the Dark Lord would focus on that. He might put so much pressure on Lucius that Lucius would decide he’d finally hit his limit. What now?

The Dark Lord rose from his seat. He approached Narcissa and Bella. “Stand.”

Bella leapt up, although it was still a difficult task for Narcissa. Her muscles felt like they seized. Her legs trembled under her weight as she stood in front of the Dark Lord. Narcissa recoiled as one of his spindly, white hands reached out for her. Bella grabbed her tightly by the wrist before she could get too far away.

The Dark Lord’s hand came to rest on Narcissa, his palm covering her forehead. She braced herself to feel pain again, but nothing came except for a strange warmth that spread from his touch to the rest of her body. It reached her fingers and toes at the same time.

“Bella,” the Dark Lord beckoned her closer. He pulled away his hand. It glowed ever so slightly with a pale blue light, which spread to Bella when she took his hand between both of hers. It ran up her arms and collected at the centre of her chest before fading away.

The Dark Lord looked at Narcissa again. “You may try and run if you wish. We are at least a thousand miles away from Britain, and even if you got that far before Bella or I caught up, nobody would be able to see you unless Bella revealed you.”

Narcissa had no choice but to nod.

“Take her upstairs, Bella,” the Dark Lord said. “We’ll be based here for the foreseeable future. She might as well get settled.”

“As you wish, my Lord.”

One of Bella’s hands wrapped tightly around Narcissa’s upper arm. Bella fished into her cloak with the other, retrieving her wand and lighting its tip as they left the keeping room. The hall they entered was otherwise nearly unnaturally dark. As Bella’s wand light swept the walls, the shadows feigned movement.

Dust muffled the stairs as they climbed them. They came up against a wall at the top. The landing ran parallel to the stairs, separated from them by a handrail. There were three doors down the left wall and one at the end. Moonlight shone down through the skylights.

“Take your pick,” Bella said. She pointed at the middle door on the left wall. “Any but that one.”

Narcissa gestured weakly at the closest one, apathetic. The door creaked open with Bella’s prompt. There wasn’t much to it. It looked like perhaps once it had been a child’s bedroom. The bed itself was small. Its frame looked so old that Narcissa wondered if it would even support her weight. A worn rag doll laid on the naked mattress.

Bella lit some torches around the room. A few more waves of her wand did a decent enough job of banishing some of the dust.

Narcissa held her arms against herself. Her teeth chattered. She hadn’t had time yet to really register how cold the house was. It had been a pleasant enough evening when she’d left Malfoy Manor. She doubted the temperature here was above freezing. She could see her breath when she exhaled.

Thick looking blankets manifested on the bed. Bella rejoined her side. “There’ll be breakfast in the morning.”

“Can I have my wand?”

Bella barked a laugh and headed for the door. “Night night, Cissy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This concludes another part in this series. :)
> 
> Thanks for reading along! The story continues with Chasing the Storm.


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